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BOOKS OF TRAYEL BY DR. FIELD. 



Fkom the Lakes of Killarney to the Golden Horn. 
With Portrait and Map. $2.00. 

From Egypt to Japan. $2.00. 

On the Desert. $2.00. 

Among the Holy Hills. With Map. $1.50. 

The Greek Islands, and Turkey After the War. With 
Map. $1.50. 

Old Spain and New Spain. With Map. $1.50. 

Gibraltar. Illustrated. $2.00. 

The Barbary Coast. $1.50. 

The Story of the Atlantic Telegraph. $1.50- 

Bright Skies and Dark Shadows. With Map. $1.50. 

Our Western Archipelago. $2.00. 



FROM THE LAKES OF KILLARNEY 



TO 



THE GOLDEN HORN 



This is the 
First Part of a Journey Round the World, 
of which the Second Part is published with the title 
'■'•From Egypt to Japan. " The volumes are uniform, 
in style and naturally go together, though either is 
complete without the other. 



Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2011 with funding from 
The Library of Congress 



http://www.archive.org/details/fromlakesofkilla01fiel 




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FROM THE LAKES OF KILLARNEY 



TO 



THE GOLDEN HORN 



BT 

HENRY M. FIELD, D.D. 



twentieth: edition 

REVISED 



NEW YORK 

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 

1898 




2ncl COPY, 
1898. 



TWO COPIES RECEIVED. 



6136 

COPTBIGHT, 1898, BY 

CHARLES SCRIBNEE'S SONS 



9? 









TROW DIRECTORY 

PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY 

NEW YORK 



Co tbc ©entle Companion, 

WHO, IN A LONG, LONG JOURNEY, 

KEPT ME FROM UTTER LONELINESS, 

IT IS BUT JUST 

TO OFFER THE FIRST FRUIT 

OF OUR WANDERINGS ROUND THE WORLD 

TOGETHER. 



THE KEYNOTE. 

When a man's house is " left unto Mm desolate " by 
tlie loss of one who filled it with sunshine — when there 
is no light in the window and no fire on the hearth — it 
is a natural impulse to leave his darkened home, and 
become a wanderer on the face of the earth. Such was 
the beginning of the journey recorded here. Thus 
driven from his home, the writer crossed the seas, and 
passed from land to land, going on and on, till he had 
compassed the round globe. The story of all this is 
much too long to be comprised in one volume. The 
present, therefore, does not pass beyond Europe, but 
stops on the shores of the Bosphorus, in sight of Asia. 
Another will take us to the Nile and the Ganges, to 
Egypt and India, to Burmah and Java, to China and 
Japan. 

It should be added, to explain an occasional personal 
allusion, that the writer was accompanied by his niece 
(who had hved so long in his family as to be like his own 
chUd), whose gentle presence cheered his lonely hoiirs, 
and cast a soft and quiet light amid the shadows. 



CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER I. 
The Melancholy Sea ... ... 7 

CHAPTER II. 
Ireland — Its Beauty and Its Sadness ... 14 

CHAPTER III. 
Scotland and the Scotch 31 

CHAPTER IV. 
The Modern Babylon — Is Civilization a Failure ? , 28 

CHAPTER V. 
The Resurrection of France 44 

CHAPTER VI. 
The French National Assembly 50 

CHAPTER VII. 
Lights and Shadows of Paris . . . . 61 

CHAPTER VIII. 
Q-oiNa ON A Pilgrimage 70 

CHAPTER IX. 

Under the Shadow of Mont Blano .... 80 



CHAPTER X. 
Switzerland .... 93 

CHAPTER XI. 
On the Rhine 100 

CHAPTER XII. 
Belgium and Holland 110 

CHAPTER XIII. 

The New Germany and Its Capital .... 120 

CHAPTER XIV. 
Austria — Old and New . . . . . . l29 

CHAPTER XV. 
Outdoor Life of the German People . . • 143 

CHAPTER XVI. 
The Passion Play and the School of the Cross 156 

CHAPTER XVII. 
The Tyrol and Lake Como 170 

CHAPTER XVIII. 
The City in the Sea , . 183 

CHAPTER XIX. 
Milan and Genoa. — The Corniche Road . . . 198 

CHAPTER XX. 
In the Vale of the Arno 810 

CHAPTER XXL 
Old Rome and New Rome ...... S18 



CHAPTER XXII. 
The Prisoner of the Vatican ..... 2S8 

CHAPTER XXIIl. 
Pictures and Palaces 236 

CHAPTER XXIV. 
Naples — Pompeii and P^stum .... 847 

CHAPTER XXV. 
Ascent of Vesuvius . 257 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Greece and Its Young King . , . . • 265 

CHAPTER XXVII. 
Constantinople . . , , . ' . • . 279 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 
The Sultan Abdul Aziz . . . . 295 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

The E-isTERN Question . . . . . , . 303 

CHAPTER XXX. 

The Sultan Deposed and Assassinated. — War in 

Servi.^. — Massacres in Bulgaria .... 315 



FROM THE LAKES OF KILLARNEY 
TO THE GOLDEN HORN 



CHAPTEE I. 

THE MELANCHOLY SEA. 

QuEENSTOWN, IRELAND, Monday, May 24, 1875. 

"We landed this morning at two o'clock, by the light 
of the moon, just past the full, which showed distinctly 
the beautiful harbor, surrounded by hills and forts, and 
filled with ships at anchor", through which the tender 
that brought us off from the steamer glided silently to 
the town, that lay in death -like stillness before us. 
Eight days and six hours from shore to shore ! Eight 
days we were out of sight of land. Water, water every- 
where ! Ocean to the right of us, ocean to the left of 
us, ocean in front of us, and ocean behind us, with two 
or three miles of ocean under us. But our good ship, 
the City of Berlin, that was making her first voyage, 
carried herself proudly from the start. The French 
steamer, which left at the same hour, swept by, firing 
her guns, as if boasting of what she would do. But the 
Berlin answered not a word. Since a fatal accident, by 
which a poor fellow was blown to pieces by a premature 
explosion, the line to which she belongs has dropped 
the foolish custom of firing a salute every time a ship 
leaves or touches the dock. So her guns were silent; 
she made no reply to her noisy Fi-ench neighbor. But 



8 THE MELANCHOLY SEA. 

at length her huge bulk swung slowly into the stream, 
and her engines began to move. She had not gone half- 
way down the bay before she left her rival behind, still 
firing her guns ; and we saw her no more. 

In crossing the sea the Berhn was never going at full 
speed, but took it easily, as the Captain wished to get 
his new machinery into smooth working order. The 
great size of the ship conduced much to comfort. She 
was more steady, she did not pitch and roll, like the 
lighter boats that were tossing around us, while she 
moved majestically through the waves. The discipline 
was perfect. There was no noise or confusion. Not a 
sound was heard, save the occasional cry of the men 
stretching the sails, and the steady throb, day and night, 
of the engine, which kept the huge mass on its ocean track. 

From the upper deck we could look down through an 
iron grating to a depth of fifty or sixty feet. It was like 
looking down into a miner's shaft. The bottom of the 
ship was a mass of fire. Thirty-six furnaces were in full 
blast, and at night, as the red-hot coals were raked out 
of the furnaces like melted lava, and flashed in the faces 
of the brawny and sweltering men, one might fancy him- 
seK looking into a Vulcan's cave, glowing with infernal 
heat. Thus one of these great ocean steamships is 
literally a sea monster, that feeds on fire ; and descend- 
ing into its bowels is like Jonah's going down into the 
"beUyofhell!" 

All this suggests danger from fire as well as from 
the sea, but so perfect are the precautions taken that 
these glowing furnaces really make the voyage more 
safe, as they shorten the time of exposure by the 
increased speed in crossing the deep. 

And yet I can never banish the sense of a danger 
that is always near from the two destroying elements of 
fire and water, flood and flame. The very provisions 



THE MELANCHOLY SEA. 9 

against danger show that it is ever present to the mind 
of the prudent navigator. The life-boats hung above 
the deck, with pulleys ready to swing them over the 
ship's side at a moment's notice ; the axes ready to 
cut away the ropes; and the casks of water filled to 
quench the burning thirst of a shipwrecked crew that 
may be cast helpless on the waves, suggest unpleasant 
possibilities ; and one night I went to my birth feeling 
not quite so easy as in my bed at home, as we were near 
the banks of Newfoundland, and a dense fog hung over 
the sea, through which the ship went, making fourteen 
miles an hour, its fog-whistles screaming all night long. 
This was very well as a warning to other ships to keep 
out of the way, but would not receive much attention 
from the icebergs that were floating about. The very 
next day we saw a monster that might have proved 
an ugly acquaintance, as one crash on his frozen head 
would have sent us all to the bottom. But at such 
times there are warnings in the air : a sudden chiU 
tells of the approach of an iceberg, and a prudent cap- 
tain steers away from the hug of this polar bear. 

In a few hours the fog was all gone ; and the next 
night, as we sat on deck, the full moon rose out of 
the waves. Instantly the hum of voices ceased ; con- 
versation was hushed ; and all grew silent before the 
awful beauty of the scene. We were floating in another 
world than this — a spiritual world — thinking of the dead 
who are not dead, but living ; as when little David 
Copperfield, sitting at a window and looking out upon 
the waters, that were crossed by a long track of light, 
v/hich seemed to unite earth and heaven, thought that 
his mother was coming to her orphaned child. Was not 
the child wiser than the man ? May it not be that on 
such a radiant pathway the angels of God are all the 
while ascending and descending? 



10 THE MELANCHOLY SEA. 

But with all these moonlight nights, and sun-risings 
and sun- settings, the sea had little attraction for me, 
and its general impression was one of profou ad melan- 
choly. Perhaps my own mood of mind had something 
to do with it ; but as I sat on the deck and looked out 
upon the " gray and melancholy waste," or lay in my 
berth and heard the waves rushing past, I had a feehng 
more dreary than in the most desolate wilderness. That 
sound haunted me ; it was the last I heard at night, and 
the first in the morning ; it mingled with my dreams. 
I tried to analyze the feeling. "Was it my own mental 
depression that hung like a cloud over the waters ; 
or was it something in the aspect of Nature itseK? 
Perhaps both. I was indeed floating amid shadows. But 
I found no sympathy in the sea. On the land Nature 
soothed and comforted me ; she spoke in gentle tones, 
as if she had a heart of tenderness, a motherly sympathy 
with the sorrow of her children. There was something 
in the deep silence of the woods that seemed to say, 
Peace, be still ! The brooks murmured softly as they 
flowed between their mossy banks, as if they would not 
disturb our musings, but "gUde into them, and steal 
away their sharpness ere we were aware." The robins 
sang in notes not too gay, but that spoke of returning 
spring after a long dark winter ; and the soft airs that 
touched the feverish brow seemed to lift gently the grief 
that rested there, and carry it away on the evening wind. 
But in the ocean there was no touch of human feeling, 
no sympathy with human woe. All was cold and piti- 
less. Even on the sea beach " the cruel, crawling foam " 
comes creeping up to the feet of the child skipping 
along the sands, as if to snatch him away, while out on 
the deep the rolling waves 

" Mock the cry 
Of some strong swimmer in his agony." 



THE MELANCHOLY SEA. 11 

Bishop Butler finds in many of the forces of Nature 
proofs of God's moral government over the world, and 
even suggestions of mercy. Bat none of these does he 
find in the sea. That speaks only of wrath and terror. 
Its power is to destroy. It is a treacherous element. 
Smooth and smiling it may be, even when it lures us to 
destruction. "We are saihng over it in perfect security, 
but let there be a fire or a collision, and it would 
swallow us up in an instant, as it has swallowed a thou- 
sand wrecks before. Knowing no mercy, cruel as the 
grave, it sacrifices without pity youth and age, gray 
hairs and childish innocence and tender womanhood — 
all alike are engulfed in the devouring sea. There is 
not a single tear in the thousand leagues of ocean, nor 
a sigh in the winds that sweep over it, for aU the hearts 
it breaks or the lives it destroys. The sea, therefore, is 
not a symbol of divine mercy. It is the very emblem of 
tremendous and remorseless power. Indeed, if Nature 
had no other face but this, we could hardly believe in 
God ; we could only stand on the shore of existence, 
terror-stricken at the presence of a power that is 
infinite, but cold and pitiless as the waves that roU fi'om 
the Arctic pole. Our Master walked on the waves, but 
left no impress of His blessed feet ; nor can we find 
there a trace of the love of God as it shines in the face 
of Jesus Christ. 

But we must not yield to musings that grow darker 
with the gathering night. Let us go down into the 
ship, where the lamps are lighted, and there is a sound 
of voices, to make us forget our loneliness in the midst 
of the sea. It was my good fortune to have as a fellow- 
traveller one who was alike at home in Europe and 
America, the beloved Philip Schaff. We shared the 
same state-room, nor could I have had a more delightful 
companion on land or sea. Those who know him do 



12 THE MELANCHOLY SEA. 

not need to be told that lie is not only one of our first 
scholars, but one of the most lovable of men. "While full 
of learning, he never oppresses you with oracular wis- 
dom ; but is as ready for a pleasant story as for a grave 
literary or theological discussion. No foreigner who 
has come to our shores, not even Agassiz, has rendered 
a greater service than he in establishing a sort of lit- 
erary and intellectual free trade between the educated 
and religious mind of America and of Great Britain and 
Germany. To him more than to any other man was due 
the success of the Evangelical Alliance. He was now 
going abroad on a mission of not less importance — 
the revision of our present version of the English Bible : 
a work which has enlisted for some years the combined 
labors of a great number of the most eminent scholars 
in England and America. 

Finally, if I may venture to give a piece of advice to 
one who is setting out on a long journey, it is, if you 
would have the fullest enjoyment, take a young person with 
you — if possible, one who is untravelled, so that you can 
see the world again with fresh eyes. I came away in the 
deepest depression. Nothing has comforted me so much 
as a light figure always at my side. Poor child ! The 
watching, and care, and sorrow tLat she has had for 
these many months, had driven the roses from her 
cheeks ; but now they are coming back again. She has 
never been abroad before. To her literally all things 
are new. The sun rises daily on a new world. She 
enters into everything with the utmost zest. She was 
a very good sailor, and enjoyed the voyage, and made 
friends with everybody. It brought a thrill of pleasure 
for the first time into my poor heart to see her delight. 
She will be the best of companions in all my wanderings. 

In such good company, we have passed over the 
great and wide sea, and now set foot upon the land. 



THE MELANCHOLY SEA. 13 

thanking Him who has led us safely through the mighty 
•waters. Yesterday morning, after the reading of the 
English service, Dr. S chaff gave out the hymn, 

Nearer, my God, to Thee, 

and our hearts responded fervently to the prayer, that 
all the experiences of this mortal state, on the sea and 
on the land — ^the storms of the ocean and the storms of 
life — may serve this one supreme object of existence, to 
bring mb nearer to God. 



CHAPTER 11. 

lEELAND ITS BEAUTY AND ITS SADNESS. 

There is never but one first impression ; all else is 
second in time and in degree. It is twenty-eight years 
since I first saw the shores of England and of Ireland, 
and then they were to me like some celestial country. 
It was then, as now, in the blessed spring-time — in the 
merry month of May : 

The corn was springing fresh and green. 
The lark sang loud and high ; 

and the banks of the Mersey, as I sailed up to Liver- 
pool, were like the golden shores of Paradise. 

Now I am somewhat of a traveller, and should take 
these things more quietly, were it not for a pair of 
young eyes beside me, through which I see things anew, 
and taste again the sweetness of that earher time. If 
we had landed in the moon, my companion could not 
have been at first more bewildered and delighted with 
what she saw ; everything was so queer and quaint, so 
old and strange — in a word, so unlike all she had ever 
seen before. The streets were different, being very nar- 
row, and winding up hill and down dale ; the houses 
were different, standing close up to the street, without 
the relief of grass, or lawn, or even of stately steps in 
front ; the thatched cottages and the flowering hedge- 
rows — all were new. 

To heighten the impression of what was so fresh to 
the eye, the country was in its most beautiful season. 
We left New York still looking cold and cheerless 
from the backward spring ; here the spring had burst 



IRELAND — ITS BEAUTY AND ITS SADNESS. 15 

into its full glory. The ivy mantled every old tower 
and ruin with the richest green ; the hawthorn was in 
blossom, making the hedge-rows, as we whirled along 
the roads, a mass of white and green, filling the eye 
with its beauty and the air with its fragrance. There 
was an intoxication of the senses as well as of the 
imagination ; and if the girls of our party had leaped 
from the carriage, and commenced a romp or a dance 
OHL the greensward, we could hardly have been sur- 
prised, as an expression of their childish joy, and their 
first greeting as they touched the soil, not of merry- 
England, but of the Emerald Isle. 

But if this set them off into such ecstasies, what shall 
be said of their first sight of a castle ? Blarney Castle 
must have been a lordly pUe in the days of its pride, 
as it still towers up a hundred feet and more, and 
its walls are eight or ten feet thick : so that it would 
have lasted for ages, if Cromwell had not knocked some 
ugly holes through it a little more than two hundred 
years ago. But still the tower is beautiful, covered 
with masses of ivy, which in England is the great 
beautifier of whatever is old, as it clings to the moulder- 
ing wall, covering up the huge rents and gaps made 
by cannon balls, and making the most unsightly ruins 
lovely in their decay. We all climbed to the top, 
where hangs in air, fastened by iron clamps in its 
place, the famous Blarney Stone, which is said to 
impart to whoever kisses it the gift of eloquence, that 
will make him successful in love and in life. But only 
one of us pressed forward to snatch the prize which it 
held out to our embrace. The lack of enthusiasm may 
have been owing to the fact that the stone hangs at 
a dizzy height, and is therefore somewhat diJB&cult of 
approach ; for on descending within the castle, where is 
another Blarney Stone lying on the ground, and within 



II 



16 IRELAND — ITS BEAUTY AND ITS SADNESS. 

easy reach, several of the party gave it a hearty smack, 
not to catch any mysterious virtue from the stone, but the 
flavor of thousands of fair lips that had kissed it before. 

These old castles that are scattered about Ireland 
and England, add much to the picturesqueness of the 
landscapes . But that is all they are good for. Viewed 
in the sober light of history, they are monuments of an 
age of barbarism, when the country was divided among a 
hundred chiefs, each of whom had his stronghold, out of 
which he could sally to attack his less powerful neighbor. 
Everything in the construction — the huge walls, with 
narrow slits for windows through which the archers 
could pour arrows, or in later times the musketeers 
could shower balls, on their enemies ; the deep moat 
surrounding it ; the drawbridge and portcullis — all speak 
of a time of universal insecurity, when danger was 
abroad, and every man had to be armed against his 
fellow. 

As a place of habitation, such a fortress was not much 
better than a prison. The chieftain shut liimself in 
behind massive walls, under huge arches, where the sun 
could not penetrate, and aU was gloomy as a sepulchre ; 
while under ground were dungeons dark, damp, and 
cold as the grave, in which prisoners and captives were 
buried alive. If these walls could speak, they would 
teU many a tale, not of knightly chivalry, of which the 
romancers write so much, but of deeds that would 
curdle the blood with horror. The " gallant knights " 
were little better than robber chiefs ; and I am glad that 
Cromwell battered their strongholds about their ears. 

There is one other feature of the country that cannot 
be omitted — it is the beggars, who are sure to give an 
American a warm welcome. They greet him with 
whines and grimaces and pitiful beseechings, to which 
he cannot harden his heart. My first salutation at 



lEELAND ITS BEAUTY AND ITS SADNESS. 17 

Queenstown as I was looking at the beautiful bay, 
was from an old woman in rags, who answered to 
her own description of herself as " a poor crathur, that 
had nobody to care for her," and who besought me, 
" for the love of God, to give her at least the price of a 
cup of tea ! " Of course I did, when she gave me an Irish 
blessing : " May the gates o' Paradise open to ye, and 
to all them that loves ye ! " This vision of Paradise 
is a favorite one with the Irish beggar, as when this 
benediction was poured out upon me : " May every hair 
on your head be a candle to light you to Paradise ! " 

This native wit of the Irish serves them better than 
their poverty in appealing for charity ; and I must con- 
fess that I have violated all the rules laid down by 
charitable societies not to give to beggars, for I have 
filled my pockets with pennies, and given to hordes of 
ragamuf&ns, as well as to old women, to hear their 
answers, which, though largely infused with Irish 
blarney, have a peculiar flavor which takes one captive 
in spite of himself. Who could resist such a salutation 
as this : " May ye ride in a fine carriage, and the mud 
o' your wheels splash the face of your innimies, though," 
with a quick turn, " I know ye haven't any ! " 

In making an excursion through the Gap of Dunloe, 
a famous gorge in the mountains around Killarney, we 
were set upon by the whole fraternity — ragtag and bob- 
tail. At the foot of the pass we left our jaunting car to 
walk over the mountain, my niece — I may as well give 
her name of Clara — alone being mounted on a pony. 
I walked by her side, while Dr. Schaff was in deep con- 
versation with a brother professor. The women were 
after them in fuU cry, each with a bowl of goat's milk 
and a bottle of " mountain dew " (Irish whiskey), to 
work upon their generous sympathy. But they made 
no impression ; the professors were absorbed in the- 



18 IRELAND — ^ITS BEAUTY AND ITS SADNESS. 

ology or sometMng else, and, setting their faces witli 
the sternness of Calvinism against this vile beggary, 
they kept moving up the mountain path. At length the 
beggars gave them up in despair, and turned to try 
their mild solicitations upon us. An old siren, coming 
up in a tender and confiding way, whispered to me, 
" You're the best looking of the lot ; and it is a nice 
lady ye have ; and a fine couple ye make ! " That was 
enough ; she got her money. I felt a little elated with 
the distinguished and superior air which even beggars 
had discovered in my aspect and bearing, till on return- 
ing to the hotel, one of the professors coolly informed 
me that the same old witch had previously told him that 
" he was the darling of the party ! " After that, who will 
ever believe a beggar's compliment again ? 

But we must not let the beggars divert our attention 
from what is around us. The region of the Lakes of 
Killarney is the most beautiful portion of Ireland. These 
Lakes are set as in a bowl, in the hollow of rugged 
mountains, which are not, like the Green Mountains, or 
the Catskills, wooded to the top, but bald and black, 
their heads being swept by storms from the Atlantic, 
that keep them always bleak and bare. Yet in the heart 
of these barren mountains, in the centre of aU this 
savage desolation, lie these lovely sheets of water. 

Nor are their shores without verdure and beauty. 
Though the mountain sides are of rock, yet the lower 
hills and meadows are in a high state of cultivation. 
But these oases of fertility are not for the people ; they 
belong to great estates — chiefly to the Earl of Kenmare 
and a Mr. Herbert, a Member of Parliament — which are 
enclosed with high walls, as if to keep them, not only 
from the intrusion of the people, but even from being 
seen by them. The rule of English exclusiveness here 
obtains, as in the construction of the old feudal castles, 



IKELAND — ITS BEAUTY AND ITS SADNESS. 19 

the object in both cases being the same : to keep the 
owners in, and to shut everybody else out. Hence the 
contrast between what is Avithin and what is ontside of 
these enclosures. Within all is greenness and fertility ; 
without all is want and misery. It will not do to impute 
the latter entirely to the natiural shiftlessness of the 
Irish people, as if they would rather beg than work. 
They cannot own a foot of the soil. The Earl of Ken- 
mare may have thousands of acres for his game, but not 
a foot will he sell to an Irish laborer, however worthy or 
industrious. Hence the inevitable effect is to impov- 
erish more and more the wretched peasantry. How 
long would the farmers of New England retain their 
sturdy independence, if all the land of a county were 
in a single estate, and they could not get an acre of 
ground? The first condition of a robust and manly 
race is that they have within their reach some means 
to earn an honest and decent support. It is impossible 
to keep up self-respect where there is no means of 
livelihood. Hence the feeling of sadness that mingles 
with all this beauty in a country where all is for the 
few, and nothing for the many ; where the poor starve, 
while a few nobles and rich landlords spend their sub- 
stance in riotous living. Kingsley, in one of his novels, 
puts into the mouth of an English sailor these lines, 
which have a singular pathos : 

" Oh 1 England is a pleasant place for them that's rich and high ; 
But England is a cruel place for such poor folks as I." 

That is the woe of Ireland, which it would seem only some 
social convulsion could remove. Sooner or later it must 
come ; we hope by peaceful methods and gentle influ- 
ences. We shall not live to see the time, but another 
generation may, when the visitor to Killamey shall 
not have his delight in the works of God spoiled by 



20 lEELAND ITS BEAUTY AND ITS SADNESS. 

sight of the wretchedness of man ; when, instead of 
troops of TU'chins in rags, with bare feet, running for 
miles to catch the pennies thrown from jaunting cars, 
he may see happy, rosy-cheeked children issuing from 
Bchoolhouses along the roads, and the spires of pretty 
churches gleaming in the valleys and on the hills. 
That will be a " sunburst " indeed upon the waters and 
the mountains of poor old Ireland. 



CHAPTER m. 

SCOTLAND AND THE SCOTCP. 

In making the tour of Great Britain, there is an 
advantage in taking Ireland first, Scotland next, and 
England last — since in this way one is -always going 
from the less to the more interesting. To the young 
American traveller, fresh and green, with enthusiasm 
unexpended, it seems on landing in Ireland as if there 
never was such a bit of green earth, and indeed it is a 
very interesting country. But many as are its attrac- 
tions, Scotland has more, in that it is the home of a 
greater people, and is invested with richer historical 
and poetical associations ; it has been the scene of great 
historical events ; it is the land of Wallace and Bruce, 
of Eeformers and Martyrs, of John Knox and the Cove- 
nanters, and of great preachers down to the days of 
Chalmers and Guthrie ; and it has been immortalized 
by the genius of poets and novelists, who have given a 
fresh interest to the simple manners of the people, as 
well as to their Highlands and Lowlands. 

And after aU, it is this human interest which is the 
great interest of any country — not its hiUs and valleys, 
its lakes and rivers alone, but its natural beauty and 
sublimity, iUumined and glorified by the presence of 
man, by the record of what he has suffered and what he 
has achieved, of his love and courage, his daring and 
devotion ; and nowhere are these more identified with 
the country itself than here, where they speak from the 
very rocks and hUls and glens. 

Scotland, though a great country, is not a very large 
one, and such are now the facilities of travel that one 



22 SCOTLAND AND THE SCOTCH. 

can go very quickly to any point. A few hours will take 
you into the heart of the Highlands. We made in one 
day the excursion to Stirling, and to Loch Lomond and 
Loch Katrine, and felt at every step how much the 
beauties of nature were heightened by associations with 
romance or history. From Stirling Castle one looks 
down upon a dozen battle-fields. He is in sight of 
Bannockburn, where Bruce drove back the English 
invader, and of other fields associated with Wallace, the 
hero of Scotland, as WiUiam Tell is of Switzerland. 
Once among the lakes, he surrenders himself to his 
imagination, excited by romance, which gives to the 
moors a greater charm than the bloom of the heather. 

Loch Katrine is a very pretty sheet of water, lying 
as it does at the foot of rugged mountains ; yet it is not 
more beautiful than hundreds of small lakes among our 
Northern hills, but for the poetic charm in being the 
scene of the Lady of the Lake. The rough country 
over which we are riding just now is no wilder than 
many of the roads among the White Mountains — but it 
is the country of Rob Roy ! 

A student of the religious part of Scottish history will 
find another interest here, as he remembers how, in the 
days of persecution, the old Covenanters sought refuge 
in these glens, and here found shelter from those rough 
riders, Claverhouse's dragoons. It is this history of 
Scotland, with the genius of her writers, that give such 
interest to her country and her people. As I stood at 
the grave of John Wilson (Christopher North), I blessed 
the hand that had depicted so tenderly the " Lights and 
Shadows of Scottish Life," and given us such varied 
scenes in the cottage and the manse, in the glen and on 
the moor. It is a fit winding up to the tour of Scot- 
land, that commonly the traveller's last visit, as he comes 
down to England, is to Abbotsford, the home of Walter 



SCOTLAND AND THE SCOTCH. 23 

Scott ; to Melrose Abbey, which a few lines of his poetry 
have invested with an interest greater than that of other 
similar ruins ; and to Dryburgh Abbey, where he sleeps. 

Edinburgh is the most picturesque city in Europe, 
as it is cleft in twain by a deep gorge or ravine, on 
either side of which the two divisions of the city, the 
Old Town and the New Town, stand facing each other. 
From the Eoyal Hotel we look across this gorge to long 
ranges of buildings in the Old Town, some of which are 
ten stories high ; and to the Castle, Hfted in air four 
hundred feet by a cliff that rears its rocky front from 
the valley below, its top girt round with walls, and 
frowning with batteries. What associations cluster 
about those heights! For hundreds of years, even 
before the date of authentic history, it had been a mili- 
tary stronghold. It has been besieged again and again. 
Cromwell tried to take it, but its battlements of rock 
proved inaccessible even to his Ironsides. Here, in a 
little room hardly bigger than a closet, Mary Queen of 
Scots gave birth to a prince, who when but eight days 
old was let down in a basket from the cliff, that the life 
so precious to two kingdoms as that of the sovereign in 
whom Scotland and England were to be united, might 
not perish by murderous hands. And here is St, Giles's 
Cathedral, where John Knox thundered, and where 
James VI. (the infant that was born in the castle), when 
chosen to be James I. of England, took leave of his 
Scottish subjects. 

At the other end of Edinburgh is Holyrood Castle, 
whose chief interest is from its association with the 
mother of James, the beautiful but ill-fated Mary. All 
that history, stranger and sadder than any romance, 
comes back again, as we stand on the very spot where 
she stood when she was married ; and pass through the 
rooms in which she lived, and see the very bed on which 



24 SCOTLAND AND THE SCOTCH. 

slie slept, unconscious of the doom that was before her, 
and trace all the surroundings of her tragic history. 

I found here my friend Mr. William Nelson (of the 
famous publishing house of Nelson and Sons), whose 
hospitality I enjoyed for a week in the summer of 1867 ; 
and he, with his usual courtesy, gave up a whole day to 
show us Edinburgh. His house is a little out of the 
city, under the shadow of Arthur's Seat, near a modest 
manse, which has been visited by hundreds of American 
ministers, as it was the home of the late Dr. Guthrie. 
Not far away is another house — that of Mr. Thomas 
Nelson — ^which also has a special interest to an American 
in that it was built wholly out of the rise of American 
securities ! During our civil war, when most people in 
England thought the Great Republic was gone, he 
invested thousands of pounds in our government bonds, 
the rise in which has paid entirely for this quite baronial 
mansion, so that he has some reason to call it his Amer- 
ican house. So many in Great Britain have lost by 
American securities, that it was pleasant to know of one 
who had reaped the reward of his faith in the strength 
of our government and the integrity of our people. 

When we reached Edinburgh both General Assem- 
blies were closing their annual meetings. I had met 
in Glasgow the successor to Norman Macleod, John 
Marshall Lang, who told me that the Assembly of the 
Old Kirk would close the next day, and advised me to 
hasten to see it before its separation. So we came on 
with him and looked in at the proceedings, but had 
not courage to stay to witness the end, which was 
not reached till four o'clock the next morning ! A scene 
more novel was a kind of state dinner, which the mod- 
erator gives at the close of the Assembly. He is allowed 
two hundred pounds to entertain, and accordingly keeps 
open house, giving a public breakfast every morning 



SCOTLAND AND THE SCOTCH. 25 

during the session, and winding np with this royal 
entertainment. There were about eighty guests, includ- 
ing the most eminent of the clergy, principals and pro- 
fessors of colleges, dignitaries of the city of Edinbui'gh, 
judges and law officers of the crown. As became an 
Established Church, there were toasts to the Queen, the 
Prince of Wales, and her Majesty's Ministers. But it 
did not need this stately welcome to make us feel at 
home among these great-hearted Scotchmen. We in 
America cannot but be greatly benefited by cultivating 
the most cordial relations with a body which contains 
so large an array of men distinguished for learning, 
eloquence, and devotion. 

In the Free Church things are done with less of form 
and state than in the National Church, but there is 
intense life and vigor. This year there has been such 
an outpouring of liberality, especially for the Sustenta- 
tion Fund, as has never been known in Scotland before. 

I am disappointed to find that the cause of Union has 
not made more progress. There is indeed a prospect 
of the "Reformed" Church being absorbed into the 
Free Church, thus putting an end to an old secession. 
But it is a small body of only some eighty churches, 
while the negotiations with the far larger body of 
United Presbyterians, after being carried on for many 
years, are finally suspended, and may not be resumed. 
As to the National Church, it clings to its connection 
with the State as fondly as ever, and the Free Church, 
having grown strong without its aid, now disdains its 
alliance. On both sides the attitude is one of respectful 
but pretty decided aversion. So far from drawing 
nearer to each other, they appear to recede farther 
apart. It was thought that some advance had been 
made on the part of the Old Kirk, in the act of Parlia- 
ment abolishing patronage, but the Free Church seemed 



26 SCOTLAND AND THE SCOTCH. 

to regard this as a temptation of the adversary to aUiire 
them from the stand which they had taken more than 
thirty years ago, and which they had maintained in a 
long and severe, but glorious, struggle. They will not 
listen to the voice of the charmer, no, not for an hour. 

This attitude of the Free Church toward the National 
Church, coupled with the fact that its negotiations with 
the United Presbyterians have fallen through, does not 
give us much hope of a general union among the Pres- 
byterians of Scotland in cur day. There is something 
in the Scotch nature which seems to forbid such coales- 
cence. It does not fuse well. It is too hard and " gritty " 
to melt in every crucible. For this reason they cannot 
well unite with any body. Their very nature is cen- 
trifugal rather than centripetal. They love to argue, 
and the more they argue the more positive they become. 
The conviction that they are right, is absolute on both 
sides. Whatever other Christian grace they lack, they 
have at least attained to a f uU assurance of faith. No one 
can help admiring their rugged honesty and their strong 
convictions, upheld with unflinching courage. They are 
heroes in the day of battle, and martyrs in the day of 
persecution ; but as for mutual concession, and mutual 
forgiveness, that, I fear, is not in them. 

It is painful to see this alienation between two 
bodies, for both of which we cannot but feel the greatest 
respect. It does not become Americans to offer any 
counsel to those who are older and wiser than we ; yet 
if we might send a single message across the sea, it 
should be to say that we have learned by all our con- 
flicts and struggles to cherish two things — which are our 
watchwords in Church and State — liberty and union. 
We piize our liberty. With a great price we have 
obtained this freedom, and no man shall take it from us. 
But we have also learned how precious a thing is broth- 



SCOTLAND AND THE SCOTCSH. 27 

erly love and concord. Sweet is tlie communion of 
saints. This is the last blessing which we desire for 
Scotland, that has so many virtues that we cannot but 
wish that she might abound in this grace also. Even 
with this imperfection, we love the country and the 
people, among whom we find the most beautiful domes- 
tic life, with every quality that can win affection or 
command respect. A country in which the scenes of 
the Cotter's Saturday Night are repeated in thousands 
of homes, we cannot help loving as well as admiring : 

*' From scenes like these Old Scotia's grandeurs rise. 
That make her loved at home, revered abroad"" 



CHAPTEE IV. 

THE MODERN BABYLON : IS CIVILIZAIION A FAILURE ? 

The greatest wonder that England has to show to the 
wanderer from the other side of the sea is London — not 
anything in London — not the Tower nor Westminster 
Abbey, nor the Houses of Parliament — but London 
itself : the interminable vastness, and the enormous 
population. London is to the modern what Rome was 
to the ancient world — the centre to which come all races 
of men from the ends of the earth. To " take it all in " 
is something which no man ever did, or can do. But 
he can look down upon it from the dome of St. Paul's, 
or he can go round about it, viewing it from afar off as 
the Scythians and barbarians of old gazed upon the Cap- 
itol from one of the Seven Hills The impression is one of 
immensity, as of something boundless, which can neither 
be compassed nor described. Horace Greeley was not 
a man given to enthusiasm ; his admirations did not 
run away with him, for he saw things for the most 
part on the dead level of mediocrity ; but he was liter- 
ally staggered by the greatness of London, which awed 
him like some great object in nature — Mont Blanc or 
the sea. 

If it be not possible to compass the sea, he who 
comes to the shore can plunge into it, and be swept on 
by it. Dr. Johnson used to say that you must walk in 
the Strand to feel the full tide of humanity, and there 
is no better way to get the rush and roar than to set 
one's self adrift in one of the great London streets, 
where the crowd grows denser and denser, and the 
tide rushes faster and faster, till an American feels 



18 CIVILIZATION A FAILURE? 29 

as if he were caught in the rapids of Niagara. If his 
strength be not sufficient to buffet the waves, let him 
haU an omnibus, and perching himself on the top, ride 
from one end of London to the other and back again. 

After all this, he may be minded to take the cool 
of the day more quietly, and exchange multitude for 
magnificence. Americans, in spite of their republican 
simplicity, are not quite satisfied unless they get a 
glimpse of royalty. For that we are in good time, for 
it is now the middle of June, which is the height of the 
season. Parliament is in session, and everybody is in 
town. Except the Queen, who is in the Highlands, 
the whole royal family are here. The assemblage of 
so much rank is quite dazzling when it is on exhibition 
in Hyde Park in the afternoon. Here come the equi- 
pages of the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Edin- 
bui'gh, with their fair brides from Northern capitals, 
followed by an endless roll of dukes and marquises and 
earls, that is bewildering to republican eyes. 

But it is not here that the heart of London or of 
England beats with a sense of power, as it does in the 
Houses of Parliament, where the lords of the realm meet 
with the commons of England to make laws for an 
empire on which the sun never sets. 

And there is yet another centre of power, the centre 
of the commercial world. For this one must go down 
to "The City" — a title which, as used here, belongs only 
to the old part of London, beyond Temple Bar, which 
is now given up wholly to business, and where " nobody 
that is anybody " Hves. Here are the Bank of England, 
the Royal Exchange, and the great houses, that have 
their connections in all parts of the earth. It is prob- 
ably quite within bounds to say that the accumulation 
of wealth at this centre is greater than ever was piled 
up before on the globe, even in the days of the Persian 



30 THE MODERN BABYLON : 

or Babylonian Empires ; or wlien tlie kings of Egypt 
built the Pyramids ; or Rome received the tribute of 
subject provinces from aU parts of the earth ; or in that 
Mogul Empire, whose monuments at Delhi and Agra are 
still the wonder of India. Half the national debts of 
the world are owed here. There is not a power on the 
globe that is seeking a loan, that does not come to Lon- 
don. France, Germany, Russia, Turkey, all have recourse 
to its bankers to provide the material of war, or for the 
construction of railways and other works of peace. 

Can it be that this great Babylon — so rich and so 
mighty ; with the wealth of empires, and every element 
of power — has a canker at its root? Let no one 
judge hastily, but see for himself. Leaving Hyde Park 
Corner, and its procession of nobles and princes ; and 
" The City," with its banks and counting-houses; let him 
plunge into another quarter of London. He need not 
go far away, for the hiding-places of poverty and wretch- 
edness are often under the very shadow of palaces. 
Come, then, and grope through these narrow streets! 
You ttirn aside to avoid the ragged, wretched creatures 
that crouch along your path. But come on, and if you 
fear to go farther, take a policeman with you. Wind 
your way into narrow passages, into dark, foul alleys, 
up-stairs, story after story, each worse than the last. 
Summon up courage to enter the rooms. You are stag- 
gered by the foul smell that issues as you open the 
doors. But do not go back ; wait till your eye is a little 
accustomed to the darkness, and you can see more 
clearly. Here is a room hardly big enough for a single 
bed, yet containing six, eight, ten, or a dozen persons, aU 
living in a common herd, cooking and eating such poor 
food as they have, and sleeping on the floor together. 

What can be expected of human beings, crowded in 
such miserable habitations, living in filth and squalor, 



IS CIVILIZATION A FAILUKE ? 31 

and often pinched with hunger ? Not only is refinement 
impossible, but comfort, or even decency. What manly 
courage would net give way, sapped by the deadly poison 
of such air ? Who wonders that so many rush to the 
gin-shop to snatch a moment of excitement or forgetful- 
ness ? What feminine delicacy could stand the foul and 
loathsome contact of such brutal degradation ? Yet thus 
live hundreds of thousands of the people of London. 

But it is at night that these low quarters are most 
fearful, when the popidation tui'ns into the streets, which 
are brilliantly lighted up by the flaring gas-jets, and 
the gin-shops, crowded by the lowest and most wretched 
specimens of humanity — old, gray-headed men and 
haggai'd women, and young girls, — and even children, 
learning to be imps of wickedness almost as soon 
as they are born. After a few hoTU'S of this excitement 
they reel home to their miserable dens, when each 
foul room becomes more hideous than before, — for 
drinking begets quarrelling ; and, cursing and swearing 
and fighting, the wretched creatm'es at last sink ex- 
hausted on the floor, to forget their misery in a few 
hours of troubled sleep. 

Such is a true, but most inadequate, picture of one 
side of London. Who that sees it, or even reads of it, 
can wonder that so many of these " victims of civiliza- 
tion," finding human hearts harder than the stones of the 
street, seek refuge in suicide ? Who can cross London 
Bridge without recalling Hood's "Bridge of Sighs," and 
stopping to lean over the parapet, thinking of the trage- 
dies which those " dark arches " have witnessed, as poor, 
miserable creatures, mad with suffering, have rushed 
here and thrown themselves over into " the black-flowing 
river " beneath, eager to escape 

" Anywhere, anywhere, 
Oat cf the world!" 



32 rHE MODERN BABYLON : 

Such is the deadly cancer which is eating at the 
heart of London — poverty and misery, ending in vice 
and crime, in despair and death. Is there any help for 
it ? Can anything be done to check this dehumanizing 
of our fellow-creatures? Or musfc they perish ? Is the 
case beyond all hope or remedy ? 

There are many schemes of reformation and cure. 
Some think it must come by political devices, by 
changes in the laws; others have no hope but in a 
social regeneration, or reconstruction of society ; others 
still rely only on moral and religious iniiuences. 

There has arisen in Europe, within the last generation, 
a multitude of philosophers who have dreamed that it 
was possible so to reorganize or reconstruct society, to 
adjust the relations of labor and capital, as to extinguish 
poverty ; so that there shall be no more poor, no more 
want. Sickness there may be, disease, accident, and 
pain, but the amount of suffering will be reduced to a 
minimum ; so that there shall be no unnecessary pain, 
none which it is possible for human skill or science 
to relieve. Elaborate works have been written, in which 
the machinery is carefully adjusted, and the wheels so 
oiled that there is no jar or friction. These schemes are 
very beautiful ; alas ! that they should be mere creations 
of the fancy. The apparatus is too complicated and too 
delicate, and generally breaks to pieces in the very set- 
ting up. The fault of all these social philosophies is that 
they ignore the natural selfishness of man, his pride, 
avarice, and ambition. Every man wants the first place 
in the scale of eminence. If men were morally right 
— if they recognized the nobility of self-abnegation — 
each willing to take the lowest place — then indeed 
might these things be. But until then, all such schemes 
will be splendid failures. 

In France, where they have been most carefully elabo- 



IS CIVILIZATION A FAILURE? 33 

rated, and in some instances tried, tliey have always 
resulted disastrously, sometimes ending in horrible 
scenes of blood, as in the Reign of Terror in the First 
Revolution, and in our time in the massacres of the Com- 
mune. No government on earth can reconstruct society, 
so as to prevent all poverty and suffering. Still the 
State can do much by removing obstacles out of the 
way. It need not be itself the agent of oppression, and 
of inflicting needless suffering. This has been the vice 
of many governments — that they have kept down the 
poor by laying on them burdens too heavy to bear, and 
so crushed the life out of their exhausted frames. In 
England the State can remove disabilities from the 
working man ; it can take away the exclusive privileges 
of rank and title, and place all classes on the same level 
before the law. Thus it can clear the field, and give 
every man a chance to rise, if he has talent, energy, 
and perseverance. 

The government can in many ways encourage the 
poorer classes, and so gradually lift them up. In great 
cities the drainage of unhealthy streets, of foul quarters, 
may remove the seeds of pestilence. Something in this 
way has been done already, and the death rates show a 
corresponding diminution of mortality. By stringent 
laws in regard to proper ventilation, forbidding the 
crowding together in unhealthy tenements, and pro- 
moting the erection of model lodging-houses, it may 
encourage that cleanliness and decency which is the first 
step towards civilization. 

By a system of Common Schools, that shall be uni- 
versal and compulsory, and be rigidly enforced, as it is in 
Germany, the State may educate in some degree, at least 
in the rudiments of knowledge, the children of the 
nation, and thus do something towards lifting up, slowly 



34 THE MODERN BABYLON : 

but steadily, that vast substratum of population which 
lies at the base of every European society. 

But the question of moral influence remains. Is it 
possible to reach this vast population with any Christian 
hifluences, or are they in a state of hopeless degradation ? 

Here we meet at the first step in England a Church, 
of grand proportions, established for ages, inheriting 
vast endowments, wealth, privilege, and titles, with 
all the means of influence over the national mind. 
For this what has it to show? It has great cathe- 
drals, with bishops, and deans, and canons ; a whole 
i'etinue of beneficed clergy, men who read or intone 
the prayers ; with such hosts of men and boys to chant 
the services, as, if mustered together, would make an 
army. The machinery is ample, but does the result cor- 
respond to the mighty preparation ? 

Lest I be misunderstood, let me say that I have 
no prejudice against the Church of England. I cannot 
join with the English Dissenters in their cr}"- against it, 
nor with some of my American bretliren, who look upon 
it as almost an apostate Church, an obstacle to the 
progress of Christianity, rather than a wall set round it 
to be its bulwark and defence. With a very different 
feeling do I regard that ancient Chiu'ch, that has so long 
had its thi'one in the British Islands. I am not an 
Englishman, nor an Episcopalian, yet no loyal son of 
the Church of England could look up to it with more 
tender reverence. I honor it for all that it has been in 
the past, for all that it is at this hour. The oldest of the 
Protestant Churches of England, it has the dignity of 
history to make it venerable. And not only is it one of 
the oldest Churches in the world, but one of the purest 
which could not be struck fi-om existence without a 
shock to all Christendom. Its faith is the faith of the 
Reformation, the faith of the early ages of Christianity. 



THE MODERN BABYLON : 36 

Whatever corruption may have gathered upon it, like 
moss upon the old cathedral walls, yet in the Apostles' 
Creed, and other symbols of faith, it has held the primi- 
tive belief with beautiful simplicity, divested of all 
philosophy, and held it not only with singular purity 
but with steadfastness from generation to generation. 

Its creed aud its service both link us to the past. As 
we listen to the Te Deum or the Litany, we are carried 
back, not only to the Middle Ages, but to the days of 
persecution, when " the noble army of martyrs " was not 
a name ; when the faithful worshipped in crypts and 
catacombs. A Chui'ch which has a long history, and 
whose very service, " chanting the liturgies of remote 
generations," unites the living and the dead — the wor- 
ship on earth with the worship in heaven — has a power 
over the imagination which no modern creations can 
command. 

Nor can we overlook, among the influences of the 
Church of England, that even of its architecture, in 
which its history, as well as its worship, is enshrined. 
Its cathedrals are filled with monuments and tombs, 
which recall great names and sacred memories. Is 
it mere imagination, that when I enter one of these 
old piles and sit in some quiet alcove, the place is 
filled with airy tongues, that come from the tablets 
around and the tombs beneath ; that whisper along the 
aisles, and rise and float away in the arches above, 
bearing the soul to heaven ? Is it an idle fancy that 
soaring above us there is a multitude of the heav- 
enly host singing "Glory to God in the highest, 
peace on earth, good will towards men?" Here is 
the soul bowed down in the presence of its Maker. 
It feels "lowly as a worm." Wliat thoughts of death 
arise amid so many memorials of the dead! "What 
sober views of the true end of a life so swiftly passing 



36 THE MODEBN BABYLON : 

away ! How many better tbouglits are inspired by the 
meditations of this holy place ! How many prayers, 
uttered in silence, are wafted to the Hearer of Prayer! 
How many offences are forgiven in the presence of 
*'The Great Forgiver of the world!" How many go 
forth from this ancient portal, resolved, with God's help, 
to lead better lives ! The sheltered cloister makes 
a solemn stillness in the midst of a great city, as if 
we were in the solitude of a mountain or a desert. 
The pillared arches are like the arches of a sacred grove. 
Let those who will cast away such aids to devotion, and 
say they can worship God anywhere — in any place. 
I am not so insensible to these surroundings, but find in 
them much to lift up my heart and to help my poor 
prayers. 

With these internal elements of power, and with its 
age and history, and the influence of custom and tradi- 
tion, the Church of England has held the nation for 
hundreds of j^ears to an outward respect for Chris- 
tianity, even if not always to a living faith. While 
Germany has fallen away to Rationalism and indiffer- 
ence, and France to mocking and scornful infidelity, in 
England Christianity is a national institution, as fast 
anchored as the island itself. The Church of England 
is the strongest bulwark against the infidelity of the 
continent. It is associated in the national mind with all 
that is sacred and venerable in the past. In its creed 
and its ritual it presents the Christian faith in a way 
to command the respect of the educated classes ; it 
is seated in the Universities, and is thus associated with 
science and learning. As it is the National Church, it 
has the support of ail the rank of the kingdom, and 
arrays on its side the strongest social influences. Thus 
it sets even fashion on the side of religion. This may 
not be the most dignified influence to control the faith 



IS CIVILIZATION A FAILURE? 37 

of a country, but it is one that lias great power, and it 
is certainly better to have it on the side of religion than 
against it. We must take the world as it is, and men as 
they are. They are led by example, and especially by 
the examples of the great ; of those whose rank makes 
them foremost in the pubHc eye, and gives them a 
natural influence over their countrymen. 

As for those who think that the Gospel is preached 
nowhere in England but in the chapels of Dissenters, 
and that there is little spirituality except among English 
Independents or Scotch Presbyterians, I pity their igno- 
rance. It is not necessary to point to the saintly 
examples of men like Jeremy Taylor and Archbishop 
Leighton ; but in the English homes of to-day are thou- 
sands of men and women who furnish illustrations, as 
beautiful as any that can be found on earth, of a religion 
without cant or afiectation, that shows itself not only in 
its devotions, but in a life full of all goodness and charity. 

It must be confessed that its ministers are not always 
worthy of the Church itself. I am repelled and dis- 
gusted at the arrogance of some who think that it is the 
only true Church, and that they alone are the Lord's 
anointed. If so, the grace is indeed in earthen vessels, 
and those of very poor clay. The affectation and preten- 
sion of some of the more youthful clergy only provoke 
a smile. Such paltry creatures are too insignificant to 
be worth a moment's serious thought. The same spir- 
itual conceit exists in every Church. We should not like 
to be held responsible for aU the narrowness of Presby- 
terians, whom we are sometimes obliged to look upon 
as Cromwell did, as "the Lord's fooUsh people." These 
small vicars and curates we should regard no more 
than the spiders that weave their web in some dimly- 
lighted arch, or the traditional "church mice" that 
nibble their crumbs in the cathedral tower, or the 






38 



THE MODEEN BABYLON 



crickets or lizards that creep over the old tombs in the 
neighboring churchyard. 

But if such narrowness is to be found in the Church 
of England, there is a grand nobleness also ; a true 
Christian liberality and hearty sympathy with all good 
men and good movements, not only in England but 
throughout the world. Dean Stanley is but the repre- 
sentative and leader of hundreds who, if they have not 
his genius, have at least much of his generous and 
intrepid spirit, that despises sacerdotal cant, and claims 
kindred with the good of all countries and ages, with the 
noble spirits, the brave and true, of aU mankind. Such 
men are sufficient to redeem the great Church to which 
they belong from the reproach of narrowness. 

Such is the position of the Church of England, whose 
history is a part of that of the realm ; which stands 
to-day buttressed by rank, and learning, and social posi- 
tion, and a thousand associations which have clustered 
round it in the course of centuries, to make it sacred 
and venerable and dear to the nation's heart. If all this 
were levelled with the ground, in vain would aU the 
efforts of Dissenters, however earnest and eloquent, avail 
to restore the national respect for religion. 

Looking at all these possibilities, I am far from 
believing, as do the extreme Nonconformists, that the 
overthrow of the Establishment would be a gain to the 
cause of Christianity. The Dissenters, naturally incensed 
at the inequality and injustice of their position before 
the law (and perhaps with a touch of envy of those more 
favored than they) have their grievance against the Church 
of England, simply because it is established, to the exclu- 
sion of themselves. But from all such rivalries and 
contentions Americans are far removed, and can judge 
impartially. We look upon the Established Church as 
one of the historical institutions of England, which no 



IS CIVILIZATION A FAILUEE ? 39 

thoughtful person could wish to see destroyed, any more 
than to see an overthrow of the monarchy, until he were 
quite sure that something better would come in its place. 
It is not a little thing that it has gathered round it a 
wealth of associations, which give it such a power over 
the nation in which it stands ; and it would be a rash 
hand that should apply the torch, or fire the mine, that 
shoidd bring it down. 

But the influence of the Church of England is mainly 
in the higher ranks of society. Below these there are 
large social strata — deep, broad, thick, and black as 
seams of coal in a mountain — that are not even touched 
by all these influences. We like to stray into the old 
cathedrals at evening, and hear the choir chanting 
vespers ; or to wander about them at night, and see the 
moonlight falling on the ancient towers. But nations 
are not saved by moonlight and music. The moon- 
beams that rest on the dome of St. Paul's, or on the 
bosom of the Thames, as it flows under the arches of 
London Bridge, covering it with silver, do not cleanse 
the black waters, nor restore to life the corpses of the 
wretched suicides that go floating downward to the sea. 
So far as they are concerned, the Church of England, 
and indeed wo may say the Christianity of England, is a 
failure. Some other and more powerful attraction is 
needed to turn the heart of England ; something which 
shall not only cause the sign of the cross to be held up 
in St. Patd's and Westminster Abbey, but which shall 
carry the Gospel of human brotherhood to every vil- 
lage and hamlet ; that shall descend with the miner into 
the pit underground ; that shall abide with every laborer 
on the land, and go forth with the sailor on the sea. 

Does the Church of England answer to this need? 
Or does it soar so high as to be far, far away from the 
mass of humanity below? A Church should be judged 



40 THE MODERN BABYLON : 

by its best examples, and as such I take one of the old 
historic churches of London, which has existed for hun- 
dreds of years, and in its long life has been associated 
with many sacred and venerable names. It is the 
famous Temple Church, which belongs to an ancient 
guild of lawyers attached to what are known as the 
Middle and the Inner Temple, a corporation dating 
back hundreds of years, which has large grounds run- 
ning down to the Thames, and great piles of buildings 
divided off into courts, and full of lawyers' offices. 
Standing among these is a church celebrated for its 
beauty, which once belonged to the Knights Templars, 
some of whose bronze figures in armor, lying on their 
tombs, show by their crossed hmbs how they went to 
Palestine to fight for the Holy Sepulchre. As it is a 
church which belongs to a private corporation, no one 
can obtain admission to the pews without an order from 
"a bencher," which was sent to us as a personal cour- 
tesy. The church has the air of being very aristocratic 
and exclusive ; and those whose enjo^rment of a relig- 
ious service depends on "worshipping God in good 
company," may feel at ease while sitting in these high- 
backed pews, from which the public are excluded. 

The ritual was given at full length, in which the 
Lord's Prayer was repeated five times! With all the 
singing and "intoning"; the down-sitting and up-rising ; 
the bowing of necks and bending of knees ; the service 
occupied an hour and a half before the Master of the 
Temple, Dean Vaughan, ascended the pulpit. He is a 
brother-in-law of Dean Stanley, and of the same gentle 
and catholic spirit. Taking as his text, " He took our 
infirmities, and bare our sicknesses," he preached a ser- 
mon appropriate to the day, which was Hospital Sunday, 
when collections in aid of the hospitals are taken in all 
the churches in London. It was simple and practical. 



IS CIVILIZATION A FAILURE? 41 

but gave me the impression of gentleness and sweetness 
rather than of power. I doubt not that it was perfectly- 
adapted to an audience of professional men, who, accus- 
tomed to the contests of the bar, prefer, when they go 
to church, to be soothed rather than stirred ; to be gen- 
tly moved by the sermon as by the music ; but who 
would be almost affronted by a direct appeal to their 
consciences, that might rouse in them a sense of guilt 
and shame ! 

But there is a question more important than its effect 
upon the benchers of the Temple. With all this refine- 
ment of worship, what moral impression would such a 
service — or a hundred such — have on the lower side of 
London life, which may be found not so far away from 
the Temple gardens ? About as much as the music of 
the Temple has on the rise and fall of the tide in the 
Thames, which flows unruffled by ; or as the moonlight 
has on vegetation. The more enchanting to the sense 
is the swell of the organ, and the soaring symphonies, 
the more is it all little better than a mockery to men 
in sorrow and despair, as if the world were not full of 
horrors and of crimes that can be hushed only as men 
are appealed to in quite another voice. 

But the influence of the Establishment is good so 
far as it goes, and it is supplemented by the Dissent- 
ing Churches, which are active in their several spheres. 
And there are innumerable separate agencies, working 
in ways manifold and diverse, not the least of which is 
an organization of Bible women, of whom there are 
hundreds, who, working noiselessly, in quiet, womanly 
ways, penetrate the darkest lanes of London, and lead 
many of their poor sisters into ways of industry, content- 
ment, and peace. 

But after all is said and done, the great mass of pov- 
erty and wretchedness remains. We lift the cover, and 



42 THE MODEKN BABYLON : 

look down into unfathomable abysses beneath, into a 
^ world where all seems evil — a hell of furious passions 
and vices and crimes. Such is the picture which is 
present to me as I walk the streets of London, and which 
will not down, even when I go to the Bank of England, 
and see the treasures piled up there ; or to Hyde Park, 
and see the dashing equipages, the splendid horses and 
their riders, and all the display of the rank and beauty 
of England. 

What will the end be ? Will things go on from bad 
to worse, to end at last in some grand social or political 
convulsion — some cataclysm like the French Revolution ? 

This is the question which now occupies thousands 
of minds in Great Britain. Of course similar ques- 
tions engage attention in other countries. In all great 
cities there is a poor population, which is the standing 
perplexity of social and political reformers. We have 
a great deal of poverty in New York, although it is 
chiefly imported from abroad. But in London the evil 
is immensely greater, because the city is many times 
larger ; and the crowding together of millions of peo- 
ple brings wealth and poverty into such close contact 
that the contrasts are more marked. Other evils and 
dangers England has which are peculiar to an old 
country ; that are the grovd;h of centuries, and cannot 
be shaken off, or cast out, without great tearing and 
rending of the body politic. AH this awakens anxious 
thought, and sometimes dark foreboding. Many, no 
doubt, of the upper classes are quite content to have 
their full share of the good things of this life, and enjoy 
while they may, saying, "After us the deluge ! " But 
they are not aU given over to selfishness. Tens of thou- 
sands of the best men on earth, having the clearest heads 
and noblest hearts, are in England, and they are just as 
thoughtful and anxious to do what is best for the masses 



IS CIVILIZATION A FAILURE? 43 

around them, as any men can be. The only question is, 
what can be done ? And here we confess our philosophy 
is whoUy at fault. It is easy to judge harshly of others, 
but not so easy to stand in their places and do better. 

Good men of all countries are anxious that the exper- 
iment of England should not fail ; for on it greatly 
depends the welfare of the whole world. But is it 
strange that they should stand aghast at what they see 
here in London, and sometimes be in despair, not only 
of Christianity, but of civilization ? What can I think 
v/hen George Macdonald, a true-hearted Scotchman, 
who has lived many years in London, tells me that 
things may come right (so he hopes) in a thousand 
years — that is, in some future too remote for the vision 
of man to explore ? Hearing such sad confessions, I no 
longer wonder that so many in England, who are sensi- 
tive to all this misery, and yet believe in a Higher 
Power, turn to the doctrine of the Personal Eeign of 
Christ on earth as the only refuge from despair, beUev- 
ing that the world wiU be restored to its. allegiance to 
God, and men to universal brotherhood, only with the 
coming of the Prince of Peace. 



CHAPTER V. 

THE RESUKEECTION OP FEANCE. 

Coming from London to Paris, one is struck with the 
contrast — ^London is so vast and interminable, and dark 
— a " boundless contiguity of shade," — while Paris is all 
brightness and sunshine. The difference in the two 
capitals is due partly to the climate, and partly to the 
materials of which they are built — London showing 
miles on miles of dingy brick, with an atmosphere so 
charged with smoke and vapors that it blackens even 
the whitest marble ; while Paris is built of a light, 
cream-colored stone, that is found here in abundance, 
which is soft and easily worked, but hardens by exposure 
to the air, and preserves its whiteness under this clearer 
sky and warmer sun. The taste of the French makes 
every shop window bright with color; and there is 
something in the natural gayety of the people which is 
infectious, and communicates itself to a stranger. Many 
a foreigner who has walked the streets of London with 
a feehng of utter isolation is restored to life again as 
soon as he reaches Paris. Perhaps if he had stayed 
a little longer in England, he would have thought 
better of the country and people. But it is impos- 
sible for a stranger at first to feel at home in Lon- 
don, any more than if he were sent adrift all alone in 
the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. The English are 
reserved in their social relations, which is very proper 
with those of whom they know nothing. But once 
well introduced, the stranger finds no spot on earth 
warmer than the interior of an English home. But in 
Paris he does not need to wait for an introduction ; he 
speaks to a Frenchman on the street (if it be only to 




VIENNA 



Paray le aipnial 

Macon 



Salzburg 



/ /''% V'V £ucem4 ~Ttrf , .i-A ^ 




THE RESTTRKECTION OF PBANCE. 46 

inquire the way), and instead of a short answer, meets 
with a polite reply. It costs but a moment of time, but 
even that many in England, and I am sorry to say in 
America also, are too impatient and too self-absorbed 
to give. In the shops everybody is so polite that one 
spends his money with pleasure, since he gets not only 
his purchase, but a smile and a pleasant word. These 
are little things, but as they affect one's temper and 
spirits, they are not trifles, any more than sunshine is 
a trifle ; and in these minor moralities of life the French 
are an example to us and to all the world. 

But it is not only for their gracious manners alone 
that I am attracted to the French. They have many 
noble qualities ; their courage and self-devotion are 
conspicuous in their history ; and they are not less 
capable of the greatest self-denial, innumerable exam- 
ples of which may be found alike among Catholics and 
Protestants. Religion, earnest as it may be, takes a form 
of gentleness and sweetness, of which I have never seen 
more beautiful examples than among the Protestants of 
France. I should be ungrateful indeed if I did not love 
the French, since to one of that nation I owe the chief 
happiness of my life. 

Of course the great marvel of Paris, and of France, 
is the manner in which it has recovered from the war. 
In riding about these streets, so full of life and gayety, 
and seeing on every side the signs of prosperity, it is 
hard to realize how recently this city has endured all 
the horrors of war ; that it has been twice besieged, has 
been encompassed vsdth a mighty army, and heard the 
sound of cannon day and night, its people hiding in 
cellars from the bombs bursting in the streets. It is 
not five years since Louis Napoleon was still Emperor, 
reigning undisturbed in the palace of the Tuileries, 
across the street from the Hotel du Louvre, where I 



46 THE RESURKEGTION OF FRANCE, 

now write. It was on the 15th of July, 1870, that war 
was declared against Prussia in the midst of the great- 
est enthusiasm. The army was wild with excitement, 
expecting to march almost unopposed to Berlin. But 
a few weeks saw the most astounding series of defeats, 
and on the 4th of September the Emperor himself sur- 
rendered at Sedan, at the head of a hundred thousand 
men, and the Empire, which he had been constructing 
with such infinite labor and care for twenty years, fell 
to the ground. 

Even then the trials of France were not ended. She 
was to have sorrow upon sorrow. Next came the sur- 
render of Metz, with another great army, and then the 
crowning disaster of the long siege of Paris, lasting over 
four months, and ending also in the same inglorious 
way. Jena was avenged, when the Prussian cavalry 
rode through the Arch of Triumph down the Champs 
Elysees. France had to drink the cup to the very dregs, 
when forced to sign a treaty of peace, ceding two of 
her most beautiful provinces, Alsace and Lorraine, and 
pay an indemnity of one thousand millions of dollars 
for the expenses of the war ! Nor was this aU. As if 
all the vials of wrath were to be poured out on her head, 
scarcely was the foreign war ended before civil war 
began, and for months the Commune held Paris under 
its feet. Then the city had to undergo a second siege, 
and to be bombarded once more, not by Germans, but 
by Frenchmen, until its proud historical monuments 
were destroyed by its own people. The Column of the 
Place Vendome, erected to commemorate the victories of 
Napoleon, out of cannon taken in his great battles, was 
levelled to the ground ; and the Palace of the Tuileries 
and the Hotel de Ville were burnt by the desperate 
communists, who, to complete the catalogue of their 
crimes, butchered the hostages in cold blood! This 



THE RESUREECTION OF FRANCE. 47 

was the last stage of anarchy and of savagery, yet in 
this Reign of Terror was Paris in the spring of 1871 ! 

In the eyes of other nations, this was not only dis- 
aster, but hopeless ruin. It seemed as if the country 
could not recover in one generation, and that for the 
next thirty years, so far as any political power or influ- 
ence was concerned, France might be considered as 
blotted from the map of Europe. 

But four years have passed, and what do we see? 
The last foreign soldier has disappeared fi'om the soil of 
France, the enormous indemnity is paid, and the country- 
is apparently as rich and prosperous, and Paris as bright 
and gay, as ever. 

This seems a miracle, but the age of miracles is past, 
and great results do not come without cause. The 
French are a very rich people, not by the accumulation 
of a few colossal fortunes, but by the almost infinite 
number of small ones. They are at once the most 
industrious and the most economical people in the 
world. They will live on almost nothing. Even the 
Chinese hardly keep soul and body together on less than 
these French ouvriers, whom we see going about in their 
blouses, and who form the laboring popidation of Paris. 
The petty farmers in the provinces save something, 
and have a Uttle against a rainy day ; and when the 
time comes that the Government wants a loan, the 
hoarded napoleons come out of old stockings and chim- 
ney comers, and, flowing together in thouBands of little 
rivulets, make the mighty stream of national wealth. 

But for a nation to pay its debts, especially when 
they have grown to be so great, it is necessary not only to 
have money, but to know how to use it. And here the 
interests of France have been managed with consum- 
mate ability. In spite of the constant drain caused by 



4:(5 THE KESUREECTION OF FKANCE. 

the heavy payment of the war indemnity to Germany, 
the finances of the country have not been disturbed. 

But what most deUghts an American is that it has all 
been done under a EepubKc. It has not required a 
monarchy to maintain pubHc order, and to give that 
security which is necessary to restore the full confidence 
of the commercial world. It is only by a succession of 
events so singular as to seem indeed providential, that 
France has been saved from being given over once more 
into the hands of the old dynasty. From this it has 
been preserved by the rivalship of different parties ; so 
that the Republic has been saved by the blunders of its 
enemies. " The Lord has confounded them," and the 
very devices intended for its destruction — such as 
putting Marshal MacMahon in power for seven years — 
have had the effect to prevent a restoration. Thus the 
Eepublic has established its title to the confidence of the 
nation, and gains strength from year to year. The 
country is prosperous under it ; order is maintained ; 
and order with liberty : why should it not remain the 
permanent government of France ? 

If only the country could be contented, and be willing 
to let well enough alone, it might enjoy many long years 
of prosperity. But unfortunately there is a cloud in the 
sky. The last war has left the seeds of another war. 
Its disastrous issue was so unexpected and so gaUing to 
the most proud and sensitive people in. Europe, that they 
will never rest satisfied till the terrible humiliation is 
redressed. The resentment might not be so bitter but 
for the taking of its two provinces. The defeats in the 
field of battle might be borne as the fate of war (for the 
French have an ingenious way, whenever they lose a 
battle, of making out that they were not defeated, but 
betrayed) ; even the payment of the enormous indem- 
nity they might turn into an occasion of boasting, as 



THE KESUBRECTION OF FBANCE. 49 

they now do, as a proof of the vast resources of the 
country ; but the loss of Alsace and Lorraine is a stand- 
ing monument of their disgrace. They cannot wipe it 
off from the map of Europe. There it is, with the hated 
German flag flying from the fortress of Metz and the 
cathedral of Strasburg. This is a humiliation which 
they will never accept as final, and herein lies the proba- 
bility of another war. I have not met a Frenchman of 
any position, or any political views, Repubhcan or Mon- 
archical, Bonapartist or Legitimist, Catholic or Prot- 
estant, whose blood did not boil at the mention of the 
lost provinces, and who did not look forward to a fresh 
conflict with Germany as inevitable. When I hear a 
Protestant pastor say, " I will give all my sons to fight 
for Alsace and Lorrame," I cannot but think the pros- 
pects of peace in Europe are not very encouraging. 

In the exhibition of the Dore Gallery, in London, 
there is a very striking picture by that great artist (who 
is himself an Alsatian, and yet an intense Frenchman), 
intended to represent Alsace. It is a figure of a young 
woman, tall and beautiful, with eyes downcast, yet with 
pride and dignity in her sadness, as the French flag, 
which she holds, droops to her feet. Beside her is a 
mother sitting in a chair nursing a child. The two 
figures tell the story in an instant. That mother is 
nursing her child to avenge the wrongs of his cou.ntry. 
It is sad indeed to see a child thus born to a destiny 
of war and blood ; to see the shadow of carnage and 
destruction hovering over his very cradle. Tet such is 
the prospect now, which fills every heart with sadness. 
The next generation will have to pay in blood and tears 
for the follies and the crimes of this. 



CHAPTEE VI. 

THE FBENCH NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 

We have been to Versailles! Of course our first 
visit was to the great Palace built by Louis XIV., 
which is over a quarter of a mile long, and stands, like 
some of the remains of antiquity, as a monument of 
royal pride and ambition. It was built, as the kings of 
Egypt built the Pyramids, to tell to after ages of the 
greatness of his kingdom and the splendor of his reign. 
A gallant sight it must have been when this vast pile, 
with its endless suites of apartments, was filled with the 
most brilliant court in Europe ; when statesmen and 
courtiers and warriors, "fair women and brave men," 
crowded the immense salons and these terraces and 
gardens. It was a display of royal magnificence such as 
the world has seldom seen. The cost is estimated at not 
less than two hundred millions of dollars — a sum which, 
considering the greater value of money two centuries 
ago, was equal to five times that amount at the present 
day, or a thousand millions, as much as the whole 
indemnity paid to Grermany ! It was a costly legacy to 
his successors — costly in treasure and costly in blood. 
The building of Versailles, with the ruinous and inglo- 
ious wars of Louis XIV., drained the resources of France 
for a generation, and by the burdens they imposed on 
the people, prepared the way for the Revolution. Tbis 
is recalled with a bitter feeling as one stands in tlie 
gilded chamber where the great king slept, by the very 
bed on which he died. That was the end of aU. his 
glory, but not the end of the evil that he wrought : 

" The evil that men do lives after them ; 
The ^food is oft interred with their hones." 



THE FRENCH NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 51 

The extravagance of this monarch was paid for in 
the blood of his descendants. If he had not lifted his 
head so high, the head of Louis XVI. might not have 
fallen on the scaffold. It is good for France that she 
has no longer any use for such gigantic follies ; and that 
the day is past when a whole nation can be sacrificed to 
the vanity and selfishness of one man. In this case the 
very magnitude of the structure defeated its object, for 
it was so great that no government since the Bevolution 
has knovna what to do with it. It required such an 
enormous expenditure to keep it up, that the prudent 
old King Louis Philippe could not afford to live in it, 
and at last tui'ned it into a kind of musevim or historical 
gaUeiy, filled with pictures of French battles, and dedi- 
cated in pompous phrase, To all the Glories of France! 

But it was not to see the palace of Louis XIV. that 
I revisited Versailles, but to see the National Assembly 
sitting in it, which is at present the ruling power in 
France. If Louis XTV. ever revisits the scene of his 
former magnificence, he must shake his kingly head at 
the strange events which it has witnessed. He must have 
shuddered in the time of the first Revolution to see 
his royal house invaded by a mob ; the faithftd Swiss 
guards butchered in his very palace ; and the Queen, 
Marie Antoinette, escaping with her Hfe ; to see the 
grounds sacred to Majesty trampled by the " fierce 
democracie " of France ; and then by the iron heel of 
the Corsican usurper ; and by the feet of the allied 
armies under Wellington. His soul may have had peace 
for a time when, under Louis Philippe and Louis Napo- 
leon, Versailles was comparatively silent and deserted. 
But what would he have said at seeing the Emperor of 
Germany and his army encamped here and beleaguering 
the capital ? Yet perhaps even that wovdd not so have 
offended his royal dignity as to see a National Assembly 



52 THE FRENCH NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 

sitting in this very palace in the name of a French 
Eepublic ! 

They have a proverb in France that " it is always the 
unexpected which happens," and so indeed it seems to 
be in French history ; it is full of surprises, but few 
greater than that which now appears. France has 
drifted into a Republic, when both statesmen and people 
meant not so. It was not the first choice of the nation. 
Whatever may have been true of the populace of 
Paris, the immense majority of Frenchmen were sin- 
cerely attached to monarchy in some form, whether 
under a king or an emperor ; and yet the country has 
neither, so that it has been wittily said that France is 
a Repubhc without RepubHcans ! But for all that the 
Republic is here, and here it is likely to remain. 

The present Assembly first met at Bordeaux — for to 
that corner of France was the government driven ; and 
when the treaty was signed, and it came north, it met 
at Versailles as a matter of necessity, since Paris was in 
a state of insurrection. It was in the hands of the 
Commune, and could only be taken after a second siege, 
and many bloody combats around the walls and in the 
streets. This, and the experience so frequent in French 
history of a government being overthrown by the 
mob of Paris invading the legislative halls, decided the 
National Assembly to remain at Versailles, even after 
the rebellion was subdued ; even though the greater 
part of the deputies had to go out fi'om Paris twelve 
miles every morning, and return every night. 

The place of meeting is the former theatre of the 
palace, which answers the purpose very well — the space 
below, in what was the pit, sufficing for the deputies, while 
the galleries are reserved for spectators. The approaches 
were crowded with persons seeking admission. But we 
had no difficulty. Among the deputies was the well-known 



THE FRENCH NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 53 

Protestant pastor of Paris, Edouard de Pressense, who 
was chosen to the Assembly in the stormy scenes of 
1871, and has shown himself as eloquent in the tribune 
as in the pulpit. I sent him my card, and he came out 
immediately with two tickets in his hand, and directed 
one of the attendants to show us into the best seats in 
the house, who, thus instructed, conducted us to the 
diplomatic box (which, from its position in the centre 
of the first balcony, must have been once the royal box), 
from which we looked down upon the heads of the 
National Assembly of France. 

Of course, as in all such bodies, there are many 
elected from the provinces on account of local influence, 
as landed proprietors, or as sons of noble families, who 
count only by their votes. But with these are others 
who have come to the front in this national crisis by 
the sheer force of superior ability, and acquired a com- 
manding influence in the country. 

The President of the Assembly was the Duke d'Au- 
diffret Pasquier, whose elevated seat was at the other 
end of the hall. In front of him was the tribune, from 
which the speakers addressed the Assembly : it not 
being the custom here, as in our Congress or in the 
English Parliament, for a member to speak from his 
place in the house. This French custom betrays this 
talkative people into more words, for a Frenchman does 
not wish to mount the tribune for nothing, and once 
there, the temptation is very strong to make a speech. 
But after all we did not find the speeches much longer 
than in the House of Commons, though they were cer- 
tainly more violent. 

The Assembly is divided between the Boyalists and 
the Kepublicans. Those sitting on the benches to the 
right of the President comprise the former of every 
shade — ^JJegitimists, Orleanists, and Imperialists, while 



54 THE FRENCH NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 

those on the left are the Republicans. Besides these 
grand divisions of the Right and the Left there are 
minor divisions, such as the Right Centre and the Left 
Centre, the former wishing a Constitutional Monarchy, 
and the latter a Conservative Republic. 

In this sea of heads below us there are some that 
bear great names. One indeed, and that the greatest, 
is not here, and is the more conspicuous by his absence. 
M. Thiers, to whom France owes more than to any other 
living man, since he retired from the Presidency, driven 
thereto by the factious opposition of some of the depu- 
ties, has withdrawn from pubhc life, and devotes himself 
to literary piu-suits. But other notable men are here. 
That giant with a shaggy mane, walking up the aisle, 
is Jules Favre, who has been distinguished in Paris 
for a generation, both for his eloquence at the bar, and 
for his inflexible RepubUcanism, which was never shaken, 
even in the corrupting times of the Empire. But in the 
dark days of 1870, when the Empire fell, he was called 
by acclamation to become a member of the Pro\'isional 
Government. He is the man who, when Bismarck first 
talked of peace on the terms of a cession of tenitory, 
proudly answered to what he thought the insulting pro- 
posal, " Not a foot of our soil, not a stone of our fort- 
resses ! " but who, some months after, had to sign with 
his own hand, but with a bitter heart, a treaty ceding 
Alsace and Lorraine, and agreeing to pay an indemnity 
of one thousand millions of dollars ! Ah weU ! he made 
mistakes, as everybody does, but we can still admire his 
lion heart, even though we admit that his oratorical fer- 
vor was greater than his political sagacity. 

And yonder, on the left, is another lion's head. That 
is Leon Grambetta ! who, shut up in Paris by the siege, 
and impatient for activity, escaped in a balloon, and 
sailing high over the camps of the German army. 



THE FRENCH NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 55 

alighted near Amiens, and was made Minister of War, 
and began with his fiery eloquence, like another Peter 
the Hermit, to rouse the population of the provinces 
to a holy crusade for the extermination of the invader. 
At first it seemed as if this desperate energy might turn 
the fortunes of the war. Thousands of volunteers rushed 
forward to fill the ranks of the independent corps known 
as the Franctireurs. But though he rallied such num- 
bers, he could not improvise an army ; the recruits, 
though personally brave enough — for Frenchmen are 
never wanting in courage — had not the discipline which 
inspires confidence and wins victory. As soon as these 
raw levies were hurled against the German veterans, 
they were dashed to pieces like waves against a rock. 
The attempt was so daring and patriotic that it deserved 
success ; but it was too late. Gambetta's work, how- 
ever, is not ended in France. Since the war he has 
surprised both his friends and his enemies by taking a 
very conciliatory course. He does not flaunt the red 
flag in the eyes of the nation. So cautious and prudent 
is he that some of the extreme radicals, like Louis Blanc, 
oppose him earnestly, as seeking to found a government 
which is republican only in name. But he judges more 
wisely that the only Repixblic which France, with its 
monarchical traditions, will accept, is a conservative one, 
that shall not frighten capital by its wild theories of a 
division of property, but which, while it secvires liberty, 
shall secure order also. In urging this policy, he has 
exercised a restraining influence over the more violent 
members of his own party, and thus done much toward 
conciliating opposition and rendering possible a French 
Bepublic. 

But let us listen to the discussions. As we entered, 
the Assembly appeared to be in confusion. The talking 
in all parts of the house was incessant, and could not 



56 THE FRENCH NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 

be repressed. The officers shouted " Silence ! " which 
had the effect to produce quiet /or about one miniUe, when 
the buzz of yoices rose as loud as ever. The French are 
irrepressible ; they talk all at once ; but this was not the 
result of indifference ; on the contrary, the more the 
Assembly became interested, the more tumultuous it grew. 
Yet there was no question of importance before it, but 
simply one about the tariff on railways ! But a French- 
man will get excited on anything, and in a few minutes 
the Assembly became as much agitated as if it were 
discussing some vital question of peace or war, of a 
Monarchy or a Republic. Speaker after speaker rushed 
to the tribune, and with loud voices and excited looks 
demanded to be heard. The whole Assembly took part 
in the debate — those who agreed with the speaker cheer- 
ing bim on, while those who were opposed answered 
with loud cries of dissent. No college chapel, filled 
with a thousand students, was ever a scene of more wild 
uproar. The President tried to control them, but in 
vain. In vain he struck his gavel, and rang his bell, and 
at length in despair rose and stood with folded arms, 
waiting for the storm to subside. But he might as well 
have appealed to a hurricane. The storm had to blow 
itself out. After a while the Assembly itself grew impa- 
tient of further debate, and shouted " Aux voix ! aux 
voix ! " [Question ! Question ! ] and the question was 
taken ; but how anybody could deliberate or vote in 
such a roaring tempest it was hard to conceive. 

This disposed of, a deputy presented some personal 
matter involving the right of a member to his seat, for 
whom he demanded justice, accusing some committee 
or other of having suppressed evidence in his favor. 
Then the tumult rose again. His charge provoked 
instant and bitter replies. Members left their seats, 
and crowded round the tribune as if they would have 



THE FRENCH NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 57 

assailed the obnoxious speaker witli violence. From 
one quarter came cries, "G'est vrai; C'est vrai! " while in 
another quarter a deputy sprang to his feet and rushed 
forward with angry gesture, shouting, " You are not an 
honest man ! " So the tumult " loud and louder grew." 
It seemed a perfect bedlam. I confess the impression 
was not pleasant, and I could but ask myself, Is this 
the way in which a greed nation is to he governed, or free 
institutions are to he constituted ? It was such a contrast 
to the dignified demeanor of the Parhament of England, 
or the Congress of the United States. We have some 
exciting scenes in our House of Representatives, when 
members forget themselves ; but anything like this 
I think could not be witnessed in any other great 
National Assembly. Nor could I wonder that sober and 
thoughtful men in France doubt the possibiHty of 
popular institutions, when they see a deliberative body, 
managing grave affairs of State, so little capable of seK- 
controL 

And yet we must not make things out worse than 
they are, or attach too much importance to these lively 
demonstrations. Some who look on philosophically 
would say, that this mere talk amounts to nothing ; 
that every question of real importance is deliberated 
upon and really decided in private, in the councils of 
the different parties, before it is brought into the arena 
of pubHc debate ; and that this discussion is merely a 
safety-valve for the irrepressible Frenchmen, a way of 
letting off steam, which involves no danger, although 
accompanied with a frightful hissing and roaring. This 
is a kindly as well as a philosophical way of putting the 
matter, and perhaps is a just one. 

Some teU us that there is also another special cause 
for excitement, viz., that this legislative body is at this 
moment in the article of death, and that these scenes are 



58 THE FRENCH NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 

the throes and pangs of dissohition. This National 
Assembly has been in existence now more than four 
years, and it is time for it to die. Indeed it has had 
no right to live so long. It was elected for a specific 
purpose at the close of the war — to make peace with the 
Germans, and that duty discharged, its functions were 
ended, and it had no legal right to live another day, or 
to perform another act of sovereignty. But necessity 
knows no law. At that moment France was without a 
head. The Emperor was gone, the old Senate was gone, 
the Legislative Body was gone, and the country was 
actually without a government, and so, as a matter of 
self-preservation, the National Assembly held on. It 
elected M. Thiers President of the State, and he per- 
formed his duties with such consummate ability that 
France had never been so weU governed before. Then 
in an evil hour, finding that he was an obstacle to 
the plans of the Legitimists to restore the Monarchy, 
they combined to force him to resign, and put Marshal 
MacMahon in his place, who may be a good soldier, 
(although he never did anything very great, and blun- 
dered fearfully in the German war, having his whole 
army captured at Sedan), but who did not pretend to 
be a statesman. He was selected as a convenient tool in 
the hands of the intriguers. But even in him they 
find they have more than they bargained for ; for in a 
moment of confidence they voted him the executive 
power for seven years, and now he will not give up, even 
to make way for a Legitimist sovereign, for the Count 
de Chambord, or for the son of his late Emperor, Napo- 
leon ni. AU this time the Assembly has been acting 
without any legal authority ; but as power is sweet, it 
still holds on. But now, as order is fully restored, all 
excuse is taken away for surviving longer. The only 
thing it has to do is to die gracefully ; that is, to dis- 



THE FRENCH NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 59 

solve, and leave the country to elect a new Assembly 
which, being fresh from the people, shall more truly 
represent the will of the nation. And yet these men are 
very reluctant to go, knowing as many of them do, that 
they will not return. Hence the great question now is 
"to be or not to be"; and it is not strange that they 
postpone as long as they can the inevitable hour. It is 
for this reason that the Assembly wrangles over unim- 
portant matters, hoping by such discussions to cause 
delay, and so to throw over the elections till another year. 
But as time and tide wait for no man, so death comes 
on with stealthy step, and this National Assembly must 
soon go the way of all the earth. What wiU come after 
it? Another Assembly more Republican still? That 
is the fear of the Monarchists. But the cause of the 
Republic has gained greatly in these four j^ears, as it 
is seen to be not incompatible with order. It is no 
longer the Red Republic, which inspired such terror ; 
it is not communism, nor socialism, nor war against 
property. It is combined order and liberty. As this 
conviction penetrates the mass of the people, they 
are converted to the new political faith, and so the 
Repubhc begins to settle itself on sure foundations. It 
is all the more likely to be permanent, because it was 
not adopted in a burst of popular enthusiasm, but very 
slowly, and from very necessity. It is accepted because 
no other government is popular. It is this conviction 
which has brought many conservative men to the side of 
the Republic. M. Thiers, the most sagacious of French 
statesmen, has always been in favor of monarchy. He 
was the Minister of Louis Philippe, and used to say, 
"A constitutional monarchy is the best of republics! " 
Perhaps he would stiU prefer a government like that 
of England. But he sees that to be impossible in France, 
and, like a wise man that he is, he takes the next best 



60 THE FRENCH NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 

thing, wliicli is a Conservative Republic, based on a 
written constitution, like that of the United States, and 
girt round by every check on the exercise of power — 
a government in which there is the greatest possible 
degree of personal freedom consistent with public order. 
To this, as the final result of all her revolutions, France 
is steadily gravitating, as her settled form of govern- 
ment. That this last experiment of political regenera- 
tion may be successful, must be the hope of every friend 
of liberty, not only in America, but all over the world. 



CHAPTER yn. 

LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF PARIS. 

If London startles us by its contrasts, what shall we 
say of Paris ? It is the gayest city in the world, yet the 
one in which there are more suicides than in any other. 
It is the city of pleasure, yet where pleasure often turns 
to pain, and the dance of dissipation, whirling faster and 
faster, becomes the dance of death. It is a city which 
seems devoted to amusement, to which the rich and the 
idle flock from aU countries to spend life in an endless 
round of enjoyment ; with which some of our country- 
men have become so infatuated that their real feeling 
is pretty weU expressed in the familiar saying that " good 
Americans go to Paris when they die ! " Certainly many 
of them do not dream of any higher Paradise. 

And yet it is a city in which there are many sad and 
mournful scenes, and in which he who looks a little 
under the surface, wiU often walk the streets in pro- 
found melancholy. In short, it is a city of such infinite 
variety, so many-colored, that the laughing and the weep- 
ing philosopher alike may find abundant material for his 
peculiar vein. Eugene Sue, in his " Mysteries of Paris," 
has made us familiar with certain tragic aspects of 
Parisian life hidden from the common eye. With all 
its gayety, there is a great deal of concealed misery 
which keeps certain quarters in a chronic state of dis- 
content, that often breaks out in bloody insurrections ; 
so that the city which boasts that it is the centre of civ- 
ilization, is at the same time the focus of revolution, of 
most of the plots and conspiracies which trouble the 
peace of Europe. As the capital of a great nation, the 
centre of its intellectual, its literary, and its artistic life, 



62 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF PAEIS. 

it has a peculiar fascination for those who delight in the 
most elevated social intercourse. Its salons are the most 
brilliant in the world, so that we can understand the 
feeling of Madame de Sfcael, who considered her banish- 
ment from Paris by the first Napoleon as the greatest 
punishment, and who " would rather sea the stones of 
the Rue du Bac than all the mountains of Switzerland " ; 
and yet this very brilliancy sometimes wearies to satiety, 
so that we can understand equally the feeling of poor, 
morbid Jean Jacques Rousseau, who more than a hun- 
dred years ago turned his back upon it with disgTist, 
saying, " Farewell, Paris ! city of noise and dust and 
strife ! He who values peace of mind can never be far 
enough from thee ! " 

If we are quite just, we shall not go to either of these 
extremes. We shaU see the good and the evil, and 
frankly acknowledge both. Paris is generally supposed 
to be a sinner above all other cities ; to have a kind of 
bad eminence for its immorality. It is thought to be 
a centre of vice and demoralization, and some would 
no doubt feel justified in denouncing it as the wickedest 
city in the world ! As to the extent to which immorality 
of any kind prevails, I have no means of judging, except 
such as every stranger has ; but certainly as to intem- 
perance, there is nothing here to compare vsdth that in 
London, or Glasgow, or Edinbiu'gh ; and as to the other 
form of vice, we can only judge by its public display, 
and there is nothing which so outrages decency, as that 
which disgusts every foreigner in the streets of London. 
No doubt here, as in every great capital which draws to 
itseK the life of a whole nation, there is a concentra- 
tion of the bad as well as the good elements of society, 
and we must expect to find all the vicious outgrowths ; 
and yet Paris may be no worse than London, or Berlin, 
or Vienna, or even New York. 



LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF PARIS. 63 

"Without taking, therefore, an attitude of denuncia- 
tion on the one hand, or going into raptures on the 
other, there are certain aspects of Paris which lie on 
the surface, and which any one may observe without 
claiming to be either wiser or better than his neighbors. 

I have tried to see the city both in its brighter lights 
and its darker shadows. I have lived in Paris, first and 
last, a good deal. I was here six months in 1847-8, 
and saw the Revolution which overthrew Louis Phihppe, 
and have been here often since. I confess I am fond of 
it, and always return with pleasure. That which strikes 
the stranger at once is its bright, sunny aspect ; one 
feels a change in the very air. Since we came here, we 
have been riding about from morning to night. Our 
favorite drive is alon.T the Boulevards just at evening, 
when the lamps are lighted, and all Paris seems to be 
sitting out of doors. The work of the day is over, and 
the people have nothing to do but to enjoy themselves. 
By hundreds and thousands they are sitting on the wide 
pavements, sipping their coffee, and talking with inde- 
scribable animation. Then we extend our ride to the 
Champs Elysees, where the broad avenne is one blaze 
of light. Thousands are sitting under the trees, enjoy- 
ing the cool evening air, and places of amusement are 
open on every side, from which comes the sound of 
music. It is all a fairy scene, such as one reads of 
in the Arabian Nights. 

But it may be thought that these are the pleasures of 
the rich. On the contrary, they are the pleasures of all 
classes ; and that is the charming thing about it. That 
which pleases me most in Paris is the general cheerful- 
ness. I do not observe such wide extremes of condition 
as in London, such painful contrasts between the rich 
and the poor. Nor do I find here such abject poverty, 
nor see such dark, sullen, scowling faces. Everybody 



64 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF PARIS. 

seems to be, at least in a small way, comfortable and 
contented. No people will get so much out of so little. 
What an English workman would spend in a single 
drunken debauch, a Frenchman will spread over a week. 
It dehghts me to see how they take their pleasures. 
Everybody seems to be happy in his own way, and not 
to be envious of his neighbor. If a man cannot ride 
with two horses, he wiU go with one, and even if that 
one be a sorry hack, with ribs sticking out of its sides, 
and that seems just ready for the crows, no matter, he 
will pUe his wife and children into the little, low car- 
riage, and off they go, not at great speed, to be sure, 
but as gay and merry as if they were a royal party, with 
outriders going before, and a body of cavalry clattering 
at their heels. When I have seen a whole family at 
Versailles or St. Cloud dining on five francs, or carrying 
their dinner with them, I admire the simple tastes which 
are so easily satisfied, and the miracle-working art which 
extracts honey from every daisy by the roadside. 

Such simple and universal enjoyment would not be 
possible, but for one trait which is peculiar to the French 
— an entire absence of mauvaise horde, false shame, the 
foolish pride, which is so common in England and 
America, of wishing to be thought as rich or as great as 
others. In London no one would dare, even if he were 
allowed, to show himself in Hyde Park in such unpre- 
tentious turnouts as those in which half Paris wiU go to 
the Bois de Boulogne. But here everybody jogs along 
at his own gait, not troubling himself about his neighbor. 
Live and let live is, if not the law of the country, the 
universal habit of the people. Whatever other faults 
the French have, I believe they are freer than most 
nations from envy, maHce, and all uncharitableness. 

With this there is a feeling of self-respect, even 
among the common people, that is very pleasing. If 



LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF PARIS. 65 

you speak to a Frencli servant, or to a workman in a 
blouse, lie does not sink into the earth as if he were an 
inferior being, or take a tone of servility, but answers 
politely, yet self-respectingly, as one conscious that he 
too is a man. The most painful thing that I found in 
England was the way in which the distinctions of rank, 
which seem to be as rigid as the castes of India, have 
eaten into the manhood and self-respect of our great 
Anglo-Saxon race. But here "a man's a man," and espe- 
cially if he is a Frenchman, he is as good as anybody. 

From this absence of false pride and false shame 
comes the readiness of the people to talk about their 
private affairs. How quickly they take you into their 
confidence, and tell you all their Uttle personal histories ! 
The other day we went to the Salpetriere, the great hos- 
pital for aged women, which Mrs. Field described in her 
" Home Sketches in France," where are five thousand 
poor creatures cared for by the charitj^ of Paris. Hun- 
dreds of these were seated under the trees, or walking 
about the grounds. As I went to find one of the 
ofiicials, I left Clara standing under an arch. Seeing 
her there, one of the old women, with that politeness 
which is instinctive with the French, invited her into her 
Httle room. When I came back, I found they had struck 
up a friendship. The good mother — poor, dear, old 
soul ! — had told all her little story ; who she was, and 
how she came there, and how she lived. She made her 
own soup, she said, and had put up some pretty musHn 
curtains, and had a tiny bit of a stove, and so got along 
very nicely. This communicativeness is not confined to 
the inmates of hospitals. It is a national trait which 
makes us love a people that give us their confidence so 
freely. This is but one of many amiable traits, which 
give a great charm to the social life of the French, and 
fin their homes with brightness and sunshine. 



66 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF PARIS. 

But of course there is another side to the picture. 
There is lightning in the beautiful cloud, and sometimes 
the thunder breaks fearfully over this devoted city. I 
do not refer to great public calamities, such as war and 
siege, bringing " battle, murder, and sudden death," but 
to those daily tragedies, which are enacted in a great 
city, that the world never hears of, where men and 
women drop out of existence, as one and another 

" Sink into the waves with bubbling groan," 
and disappear from view, and the ocean roUs over them, 
burying the story of their unhappy hves and their 
wretched end. Something of this darker shading to 
bright and gay Paris, one may discover who is curious 
in such matters. There is a kind of fascination which 
sometimes lures me to search out that which is sombre 
and tragic in human life and in history. So I have been 
to the Prison de la Roquette, over which is an inscrip- 
tion which might be written over the gates of hell : 
Depot des Condamnes ! Here the condemned are placed 
before they are led to death, and in the open space in 
front take place all the executions in Paris. Look you 
at those five stones deep set in the pavement, on which 
are planted the posts of the guillotine ! Over that in 
the centre hangs the fatal knife, which descends on the 
neck of the victim, whose head roUs into the basket 
below. 

But prisons are not peculiar to Paris, and probably 
quite as many executions have been witnessed in front 
of Newgate, in London. But that which gives a peculiar 
and sadder interest to this spot, is that here took 
place one of the most terrible tragedies in French his- 
tory — the massacre of the hostages in the days of the 
Commune. In that prison yard the venerable Arch- 
bishop of Paris was shot, with others who bore honored 
names. No greater atrocity was enacted even in the 



LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF PARIS. 67 

Reign of Terror. There fiends in human shape, with 
hearts as hard as the stones of the street, butchered old 
age. In another quarter of Paris, on the heights of 
Montmartre, the enraged populace shot down two brave 
generals — Lecompte and Clement-Thomas. I put my 
hand into the very holes made in the wall of a house 
by the murderous balls. Such cowardly assassinations, 
occurring more than once in French history, reveal a 
trait of character not quite so amiable as some that I 
have noticed. They show that the polite and polished 
Frenchman may be so aroused as to be turned into a 
wild beast, and give a color of reason to the savage 
remark of Voltaire — himself one of the race — that "a 
Frenchman was half monkey and half tiger ! " 

One other picture is enough of the shadows. One 
day I went, to the horror of my companion, to visit the 
Morgue, the receptacle of all the suicides in Paris, 
where their bodies are exposed that they may be recog- 
nized by friends. Of course some are brought here 
who die suddenly in the streets, and whose names 
are unknown. But the number of suicides is fearfully 
great. Bodies are constantly fished out of the Seine, of 
those who throw themselves from the numerous bridges. 
Others climb to the top of the column in the Place 
Vendome, or on the Place of the Bastille, or to the 
towers of Notre Dame, and throw themselves over the 
parapet, and their mangled bodies are picked up on 
the pavement below. Others find the fumes of charcoal 
an easier way to fall into an eternal sleep. Thus, by 
one means or other, by pistol or by poison, by the 
tower or the river, almost every day has its victim. I 
think the exact statistics show more than one suicide a 
day throughout the year 1 When I was ac the Morgue 
there were two bodies stretched out stark and cold — a 
man and a woman, both young. If those poor lips could 



68 LIGHTS A^^) shadows of PARIS. 

but speak, what tragedies they might tell ! "Who knows 
what hard battle of life they had to fight — what strug- 
gles wrung that manly breast, or what sorrow broke that 
woman's heart ? Who was she ? 

" Had she a father ? Had she a mother ? 
Had she a sister ? Had she a brother ? 
Or one dearer still than all other ? " 

Perhaps she had led a life of shame, but all trace of 
passion was gone now : 

" Death had left on her 
Only the beantiful." 

As I marked the rich tresses which hung down over her 
shoulders, I thought Jesus would not have disdained 
her if she had come to him as a penitent Magdalen, and 
with that flowing hair had wiped His sacred feet. 

I do not draw these sad pictures to point a moral 
against the French, as if they were sinners above all 
others, for I think this great number of suicides may 
be ascribed, in part at least, to the mercurial and excit- 
able character of the people. They are easily elated 
and easily depressed ; now rising to the height of joyous 
excitement, and now sinking to the depths of despair. 
And when these darker moods come on, what so natural 
as that those who have not a strong religious feeHng to 
restrain them, or to give them patience to bear their 
trials, should seek a qtiick relief in that calm rest which 
no rude waking will ever distui-b ? If they had the 
faith in God and a life to come, which is the only true 
consolation in all time of our trouble, in all time of 
our adversity, they would not so often rush to the 
grave, thinking to bury their sorrows in the silence of 
the tomb. 

Thus looking at the Hghts and shadows of Paris, I 
turn away half in admiration and half in pity, but all in 
love. With all its shadows, it is a wonderful city, by far 



LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF PARIS. 69 

the greatest, except London, in the modem world, and 
the French are a wonderful people ; and while I am not 
blind to their weaknesses, their vanity, their childish 
passion for military glory, yet " with all their fatdts I 
love them still." The harsh judgment often pronounced 
upon them is hasty and mistaken. No doubt the 
elements of good and evil are mingled here in large 
proportions, and act with great intensity, and some- 
times with terrific results. But Frenchmen are not 
worse than other men, nor Paris worse than other cities. 
If it has some dark spots, it has many bright ones, in its 
ancient seats of learning and its noble institutions of 
charity, which are enough to redeem the reproaches 
whicli it shares with all the capitals of Europe. 



CHAPTEE Vm. 

GOING ON A PILGRIMAGE. 

We have been on a pilgrimage : In coming to 
France, I had a desire to visit one of those shrines 
v^rhich have become of late objects of such devotion as 
to attract people from all parts of Europe, and even 
from America. With the resurrection of France in 
material prosperity, there has been also a revival of 
what Protestants would call superstition or fanaticism. 
Those who have kept watch of events in the religious as 
well as in the poUtical world, have observed a sudden 
access of zeal throughout Catholic Christendom. What- 
ever the cause, whether the persecution, real or imagi- 
nary, of the Holy Father, or the heavy blows which the 
Church has received from the iron hand of Germany in 
its wars with Austria and France — the fact is evident 
that there has been a great increase of activity among 
the more devout Catholics — which shows itself in a 
spirit of propagandism, in " missions," which are a kind 
of revivals, and in pilgrimages to places which are 
regarded as having a pecuhar sanctity. 

These pilgrimages are so utterly foreign to our Amer- 
ican ideas, they appear so childish, that it seems impos- 
sible to speak of them with gravity. And yet there has 
been at least one of these pious expeditions from the 
United States, in which the pilgrims walked in proces- 
sion down Broadway, and embarked with the blessing 
of our American Cardinal. From England they have 
been quite frequent. Large numbers, among whom we 
recognize the names of several well known Catholic 
noblemen, assemble in London, and receive the bless- 
ing of Cardinal Manning, as they leave to make devout 



GOING ON A PILGRIMAGE. 71 

pilgrimages to the holy places (which are no longer only 
in Palestine, but for greater convenience have been 
brought nearer, and are now to be found in France), 
ending with a pilgrimage to Rome, to cast themselves at 
the feet of the Holy Father, who gives them his blessing, 
while he bewails the condition of Europe, and anathe- 
matizes those who oppress the Church — thus blessing 
and cursing at the same time. 

If I wished to cast ridicule on the whole affair, there 
is something very tempting in the easy and luxurious 
Avay in which these modern pilgrimages are performed. 
Of old, when a pilgrim set out for the Holy Land, it was 
with a staff in his hand, and sandals on his feet, and 
thus he travelled hundreds of leagues, over mountain 
and moor, through strange countries, begging his way 
from door to door, reaching his object at last perhaps 
only to die. Even the pilgrimage to Mecca has some- 
thing imposing to the imagination, as a long procession 
of camels files out of the streets of Cairo, and takes 
the way of the desert. But these more fashionable pil- 
grims travel by steam, in first-class railway carriages, 
with Cook's excursion tickets, and are duly lodged and 
cared for, from the moment they set out till they are 
safely returned to England. One of Cook's agents in 
Paris told me he had thus conveyed a party of two thou- 
sand ! This is devotion made easy, in accordance with 
the spirit of the modern time, which is not exactly a 
spirit of self-sacrifice, but "likes all things comfort- 
able " — even religion. 

But my object was not to ridicule, but to observe. 
If I did not go as a pilgrim, on the one hand, neither did 
I aim only at a sensational description. If I did not go 
in a spirit of faith, it was at least in a spirit of candor, 
to report what I saw. 

But how was I to reach one of these holy shrines ? 



72 GOING ON A PILQKIMAGE. 

They are a long way off. The grotto of Lourdes, wliere 
the Holy Virgin is said to have appeared to a girl of the 
country, is in the Pyrenees ; while Paray-le-Monial is 
neai'ly three hundred miles southeast from Paris. How- 
ever, it is not very far aside from the route to Switzer- 
land, and we took it on our way to Geneva, resting over 
a day at Macon for the purpose. 

It was a bright summer morning when we started 
fi'om Macon, and wound oiu' way among the vine-clad 
hills of the ancient province of Burgundy. It is a 
picturesque country. Old chateaux hang upon the 
sides, or crown the summits of the hills, while quaint 
Httle villages nestle at their foot. In yonder village was 
born the poet and statesman Lamartine. We can see 
in passing the chateau where he lived, and here, " after 
life's fitful fever, he sleeps weU." All these sunny slopes 
are covered with vineyards, now smiling in their summer 
dress, that remind pilgrims, as they enter this hiU-country, 
of Palestine. Three hours brought us to Paray-le- 
Monial, a town of three or four thousand inhabitants, 
like hundreds of others in France, with nothing to attract 
attention, except the mai'vellous tradition which has 
given it a sudden celebrity, that causes devout Catholics 
to approach it with a feeling of reverence. 

The story of the place is this : In the little town is 
a convent, which has been standing for generations. 
Here, two hundred years ago, lived a nun. Marguerite 
Marie Alacoque, an enthusiast by nature, who spent 
much of her time in prayer, and whose devotion was at 
length rewarded by the personal appearance of our 
Lord, who opened His bosom, and bade her devote 
herself to the worship of that " sacred heart " ! These 
visitations were very frequent. Some of them were in 
the chapel, and some in the garden attached to the 
convent. The latter ia not open to visitors, the Pope 



GOING ON A PILGRIMAGE. 73 

having issued an order that the privacy of the religieuses 
should be respected. But a church near by overlooks it, 
and whoever takes the fatigue to climb to the top, may 
look down into the forbidden place. As we were deter- 
mined to see everything, we mounted all the winding 
stone steps in the tower, from which the keeper pointed 
out to us the very spot where our Saviour appeared to 
the "Bienheureuse." In a clump of small trees are two 
statues, one of the Master and the other of the nun on 
her knees, as she instantly sank to the ground when she 
recognized the majesty of her blessed Lord. Sometimes 
the " Seigneur " appeared to her unattended ; at others 
he was accompanied by angels and seraphim. 

It is a little remarkable that this wonderful fact of 
the personal appearance of Christ, though it occurred, 
according to the tradition, two centuries ago, did not 
attract more attention ; that it was neglected even by 
Catholic historians until 1863, when (as a part of a 
general movement to reanimate the decaying faith of 
France) the marvellous story was revived, and brought 
to the notice of the religious world. 

But let not cold criticism come in to mar the full 
enjoyment of what we have come so far to see. The 
principal visitations were not in the garden, but in the 
chapel of the convent, which on that account bears the 
name of the Chapel of the Visitation. Here is the tomb 
which contains the body of the sainted nun, an image of 
whom in wax lies above it under a glass case, dressed in 
the robe of her order, with a crown on her head, to 
bring before the imagination of the faithful the presence 
of her at whose shrine they worship The chapel is 
separated from the convent by a large grating, behind 
which the nuns can be hidden and yet hear the service, 
and chant their offices. There it was, behind that grate, 
while in an ecstacy of prayer, that our Saviour first 



74 GOING ON A PILGEIMAGE. 

appeared to the gaze of the enraptured nun. The grate 
is now literally covered with golden hearts, the offerings 
of the faithful. Similar gifts hang over the altar, while 
gilded banners glitter upon the walls. 

As we entered, it was evident that we were in what 
was to many a holy place. There was no service 
going on, but all were engaged in silent meditation 
and prayer. We seemed to be the only persons present 
from curiosity. We sat in silence, unwilling to disturb 
even by a whisper the stillness of the place, or the 
thoughts of those who had come to worship. At three 
o'clock the nuns began to sing the Ave Maria. But 
they did not show themselves. There are other sisters, 
who have the care of the chapel, and come in to trim 
the candles before the shrine, but the nuns proper lead 
a life of entire seclusion, never being seen by any one. 
Only their voices are heard. Nothing could be more 
plaintive than their low chanting, as it issued from 
behind the bars of theu' prison-house, and seemed to 
come from a distance. There, hidden from the eyes of 
aU, sat that invisible choir, and sang strains as soft as 
those which floated over the shepherds of Bethlehem. 
As an accompaniment to the scene in the chapel, noth- 
ing could be more effective ; it was fitted to touch the 
imagination, as also when the priest intoned the serviec 
in the dim light of this little church, with its censers 
swinging with incense, and its ever-burning lamps. 

Of the banners that are hung upon the walls some 
are from other coTintries, but most from France, and it 
is easy to see how the patriotic feeling mingles with 
the rehgious. Here and there may be seen the image of 
the sacred heart with a purely religious inscription, such 
as Void le cceur qui a tant aime les hommes! but much 
more often it is, Cceur de Jesds, Sauvez la France ! 
This idea reappears constantly, and one cannot help 



GOING ON A PILGRIMAGE. 75 

thinking that this sudden outburst of religious zeal 
has been greatly intensified by the disasters of the 
German war ; that for the first time French armies- 
beaten in the field have resorted to prayer ; that they 
fly to the Blessed Virgin, and to the Sacred Heart of 
Jesus, to implore the protection which their own arms 
could not give. In conspicuous places on the columns 
beside the chancel are banners of Alsace and Lorraine, 
covered with crape, the former with a cross in the 
centre, encircled with the words first written in the sky 
before the adoring eyes of Constantine : In hoc signo 
viNCES ! while for Lorraine stands only the single name 
of Metz, invested with associations so sad, with the 
inscription, Sacke Cceuk de Jesus, Sauvez la Feance ! 

There is no doubt that these pilgrimages have been 
encouraged by French politicians, as a means of reviving 
and inflaming the enthusiasm of the people, not only for 
the old Catholic faith, but for the old CathoHc monarchy. 
Of the tens of thousands who flock to these shrines, there 
are few who are not strong Legitimists. On the walls 
of the chapel the most glittering banner is that of 
Henei de Bouebon, the name by which the Count de 
Chambord chooses to be known as the representative of 
the old royal race. Not to be outdone in pious zeal, 
Marshal MacMahon, who is a devout Catholic, has also 
sent a banner to Paray-le-Monial, but it is not displayed 
with the same ostentation. The Legitimists have no 
wish to keep his name too much before the French 
people. He is well enough as a temporary head of the 
State till the rightful sovereign comes, but when Henri 
de Boiirbon appears, they want no "Marshal-President" 
to stand in his way as he ascends the thi'one of his 
ancestors. 

Thus excited by a strange mixture of religious zeal 
and political enthusiasm, France pours its multitudes 



76 QOINQ ON A PILGRIMAGE. 

annually to these shrines of Lonrdes and Ptu-aj'-le- 
Monial. We were too late for the rush this year — "the 
season" was just over ; for there is a season for going on 
pilgrimages as for going to watering-places, and June is 
the month in which they come in the greatest numbers. 
There have been as many as twenty thousand in one 
day. On the 16th of June — it was a special occasion — 
the crowd was so great that mass was begun at two 
o'clock in the morning, and repeated without ceasing 
till noon, the worshippers retiring at the end of every 
half hour, that their places might be taken by a new 
throng of pilgrims, who press forward to the holy shrine, 
and go away v*dth an elated, almost ecstatic feeling, that 
they have left theii" sins and their sorrows at the tomb 
of the now sainted and glorified nun. 

^^lat shall we say to this '? That it is all nonsense — 
folly, born of fanaticism and superstition ? Medical men 
will have an easy way of disposing of this nun and her 
\isions, by saying that she was simply a crazy woman ; 
that nothing is more common than these fancies of a 
distempered imagination ; that such cases may be found 
in every lunatic asylum ; and that hysterical women 
often think that they have seen the Saviour. Such is a 
very natiu'al explanation of this singular phenomenon. 
There is no reason to suppose that this nun was a 
designing woman, that she intended to deceive. People 
who have visions ai'e the siucerest of human beings. 
They have unbounded faith in themselves, and think it 
strange that an unbeheving world does not give the 
same credit to their revelations. 

From all that I have read of this Marie Alacoque, 
I am quite ready to believe that she was a devout young 
woman, who, buried in the living tomb of a convent, 
praying and fasting, worked herself into such a fever of 
excitement, that she thought the Saviour came down 



GOING ON A PILGRIMAGE. 77 

into the garden, and into the chapel ; that she saw His 
form and heard His voice. To her it was all a living 
reality. But that her simple statement, supported by 
no other evidence, should be gravely accepted in this 
nineteenth century by men who are supposed to be still 
in the possession of sober reason, is one of the strange 
things which it would be impossible to believe, were it 
not that I have seen it with my own eyes. 

But sincerity of faith always commands a certain 
respect, even when coupled with ignorance and super- 
stition. If it shows a pitifid credulity, yet we must con- 
sider it, not as we look at it, but as these devout pilgrims 
regard it. To them this spot is one of the holy places 
of the world, since here the Incarnate Deity descended 
to the earth ; they beUeve that this garden has been 
touched by His blessed feet ; and that this little chapel 
is still filled with the presence of Him who once was 
here, but is now ascended up far above all heavens. 
Hence to them Paray-le-Monial is invested with the 
same sacred associations with which we make a pil- 
grimage to Nazareth and Bethlehem. 

But with every disposition to look upon it in the 
most indulgent light, it is impossible not to feel that 
there is something very French in this way of attempt- 
ing to revive the faith of a great nation, among whom 
even religion seems to have a touch of the theatrical, as in 
the very address of this new worship, which is not to the 
name of our Saviour, but to His " sacred heart " ! That 
appeal seems to take captive the French imagination. 
The very words have a rich and mellow sound. And so 
the attempt which was begun in an obscure village of 
Burgundy, is now proclaimed in Paris and throughout 
the kingdom, to dedicate France to the " sacred heart " 
of Jesus ! 

This peculiar form of worship is the new religious 



78 GOING ON A PILGRIMAGE. 

fasliion. A few weeks since an imposing service attracted 
the attention of Paris. A procession of bishops and 
priests, followed by great numbers of the faithful, wound 
through the streets up to the heights of Montmartre, 
there to lay, with solemn ceremonies, the corner-stone of 
a new church dedicated to the "sacred heart." The 
spot is the highest in the whole circle of Paris, and over- 
looks it almost as Edinburgh is overlooked by the Castle. 
Here one looks down on the habitations of two millions 
of people. A church erected on that height, with its 
golden cross lifted into mid-heaven, would seem like a 
banner in the sky, to hold up before this unbelieving 
people an everlasting sign of the faith. 

But though the Romish Church should consecrate 
ever so many shrines ; though it build churches and 
cathedrals, and rear its flaming crosses on every hill and 
mountain from the Alps to the Pyrenees ; it is not thus 
that religion is to be enthroned in the hearts of a nation. 
The fact is not to be disguised that France has fallen 
away from the faith. It looks on at all these attempts 
with indifference, or with an amused curiosity. If pop- 
ular writers notice them at all, it is to make them an 
object of ridicide. At one of the Paris theatres an 
actor appears dressed as a Brahmin, and offers to swear 
"by the sacred heart of a cow " (that being a sacred ani- 
mal in India). The allusion is caught at once by the 
audience, who answer it with laughter, which is the 
mocking sneer of Paris at the new superstition ! 

Not so is a skeptical people, who make merry of 
things sacred, to be subdued to a reverent devotion. 
Not by going on pilgrimages, nor by great processions, 
with gilded crowns and waving banners. Even the 
Catholic Church has more efficient instruments at com- 
mand. The Sisters of Charity in hospitals are far more 
effective missionaries than nuns behind the bars of a 



GOING ON A PILGRIMAGE. 79 

convent, singing hymns to the Virgin, or lamps burn- 
ing before the shrine of a saint dead hundreds of years 
ago. If France is ever to be brought back to the faith, 
it must be by arguments addressed to the understand- 
ing, which shall meet the objections of modern science 
and philosophy ; and, above all, by living examples 
of its power. It wiU never be converted merely by 
dramatic exhibitions, that touch the imagination. It 
must be by something that can reach the conscience 
and the heart. Thus only can a people so volatile, so 
capricious, and yet so greai^ be won to "the sacred 
heart of Jesus." 



CHAPTER IX. 

UNDER THE SHADOW OF MONT BLANC, 

We are in the Vale of Chamouni, under the shadow 
of Mont Blanc. Shut in by the encircling mountains, 
one cannot escape that awful form any more than he can 
escape the presence of God. It is everywhere day and 
night. We throw open our windows, and it is standing 
right before us, while at night the moonlight glistens 
on its eternal snows. 

We left Geneva on one of the most beautiful morn- 
ings of the year, when to set out on a mountain excur- 
sion, and ride on the top of a diligence, was enough to 
stir the blood of the most languid tourist. A French 
diligence is a monstrous affair — a kind of Noah's Ark 
on wheels — that carries a multitude of living creatures. 
We had twenty-four persons (three times as many as 
Noah had in the Ark) mounted on this huge vehicle, 
to which were harnessed six horses, three abreast. In 
such grandeur — perched on the top and in the front 
seat — we rolled out of Geneva, feeling at every step 
the exhilaration of the mountain air, and the bright 
summer morning. The postilion was in his glory, and 
cracked his whip as we rattled through the little Swiss 
villages, making the people run to get out of his way, 
and stare in wonder at the tremendous momentum of 
his imperial equipage. To us, who sat sublime " above 
the noise and dust of this dim spot called earth," there 
was something at once exciting and ludicrous in the 
commotion we made. But there were other occasions 
for satisfaction. The day was divine. The country 
around Geneva rises from the lake, and spreads out in 
wide, roUing distances, bordered on every side by the 



UNDER THE SHADOW OF MONT BLANC. 81 

great mountains. The air was full of the smell of new- 
mown hay, while over all hung the bending sky, full oi 
sunshine. Thus with every sense keen with delight, we 
sat on high and took in the full glory of the scene, as we 
swept on towards the Alps. 

As we advance the mountains close in around us, till 
we cannot see where we are to find a passage through 
them. For the last half of the way the construction 
of the road was a difficult task of engineering ; for 
miles it had to be built up against the mountain ; at 
other places a passage was cut in the side of the cliff, or 
a tunnel made through the rock. Yet difficult as it was, 
the work has been thoroughly done. It was completed 
by Napoleon the Third, after Savoy was annexed to 
France, as Napoleon the First built a road over the 
Simplon. Over such a highway we roUed on to the 
end of our journey. 

And now we are in the very heart of the Alps, under= 
the shadow of the greatest of them all : 

" Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains; 
They crowned him long ago 
On a throne of rocks, in a rohe of clouds, 
With a diadem of snow." 

Once in the valley, we can hardly turn aside our eyes 
from that overpowering object, but keep looking up at 
the mighty dome, which seems to touch the sky. For- 
tunately for us, there was no cloud about the throne. 
Like other monarchs, he is somewhat fitful and capri- 
cious, often hiding his royal head from the sight of his 
worshippers. Many persons come to Chamouni and do 
not see Mont Blanc at all. Sometimes they wait for 
days for an audience of his majesty, without success. 
But he favored us at once with the sight of his imperial 
countenance. Glorious was it to behold him as he shone 
in the last rays of the setting sun ! And when evening 



82 UNDER THE SHADOW OF MONT BLANC, 

drew on, the moon hung above the summit, as if unwill- 
ing to depart. As she declined towards the west, she did 
not disappear at once ; but as the mountains themselves 
sink away from the height of Mont Blanc, the moon 
seemed to glide slowly down the descending slope, set- 
ting and reappeaiing, and touching the whole with her 
silver radiance. 

But sunset and moonlight were both less impressive 
than sunrise. Eemembering Coleridge's Hymn to Mont 
Blanc, which is supposed to be written " before sunrise 
in the Vale of Chamouni," we were up in the morning 
to catch the earliest dawn. It was long in coming. At 
first a few faint streaks of hght shot up the eastern sky ; 
then a rosy tinge flushed the monarch's head ; then 
other snowy summits caught the golden glow ; till a 
hundred splintered peaks, that formed a part of the 
mighty range, reflected the light of coming day, and at 
•last the full orb rose above the tops of the mountains, 
and shone down into the valley. 

Of course all visitors to Chamouni have to climb 
some of the lower mountains to see the glaciers, and get 
a general view of the chain of Mont Blanc. My com- 
panion was ambitious to do something more than this. 
She is a very good walker and cUmber, and had taken 
many long tramps among our Berkshire Hills, and to her 
Mont Blanc did not seem much more than Monument 
Mountain. In truth, the eye is deceived in judging of 
these tremendous heights, and cannot take in at first the 
real elevation. But when they are accurately measui-ed, 
Mont Blanc is found to be about twenty times as high as 
the cliff which overlooks oiu' Housatonic Valley ! But a 
young enthusiast feels equal to anything, and she seemed 
really quite disappointed that she could not at least go 
as far as the Grands Mulets (where, with a telescope, we 
can just see a little cabin on the rocks), which is the 



UNDEK THE SHADOW OF MONT BIANC. 83 

limit of the first day's journey for adventurous tourists, 
most of whom do not get any further. A party that 
went up yesterday, intending to reach the top of Mont 
Blanc, had to turn back. A recent fall of snow had 
buried the mountain, so that they sank deep at every 
step, and prudently abandoned the attempt. 

The ascent, at all times difficult, is often a dangerous 
undertaking, and has cost the lives of many adven- 
turous travellers. An avalanche may bury a whole 
party in a moment ; or if lashed to the guides by a 
rope, one slip may drag the whole down into one of 
the enormous crevasses, where now many bodies lie 
unburied, yet preserved from decay in the eternal ice. 
Only five years ago, in September, 1870, a party of 
eleven — three tourists (of whom two were Americans), 
with eight guides and porters — were all lost. They 
had succeeded in reaching the summit of the mountain, 
when a snow-storm came on, and it was impossible for 
them to descend. The body of one of them, Dr. Bean, 
of Baltimore, was recovered, and is buried in the 
little graveyard here. With such warnings, a sober old 
Tincle might be excused for restraining a young lady's 
impetuosity. If we could be here a month, and go 
into training by long walks and climbs every day, I do 
believe we should gradually work our courage up to 
the sticking point, and at last climb to the top, and 
plant a very modest American flag on the hoary head 
of Mont Blanc ! 

But for the present we must be content with a 
less ambitious performance, to make only the customary 
ascent of the Montanvert, and cross the Mer de Glace. 
We left at eight o'clock in the morning. Our friends in 
New York would hardly have recognized me in my trav- 
elling dress of Scotch gray, with a slouched straw hat on 
my head, and an alpenstock in my hand. The hat was 



84 UNDER THE SHADOW OF MONT BLANO. 

very useful, if not ornamental. I bought it for a franc, 
and it answered as well as if it had cost a guinea. To 
be sure, as it had a broad brim, it had a slight ten- 
dency to take wings and fly away, and light in some 
mountain torrent, from which it was speared out with 
the alpenstock, and restored to its place of honor ; but 
it did excellent service in protecting my eyes from the 
blinding reflection of the snow. Clara was mounted on 
a mule, which she had at first refused, prefemng her 
own agile feet ; but I insisted on it, as a very useful 
support to fall back upon in case the fatigue was too 
great. Thus accoutred, our little cavalcade filed out of 
Chamouni, the guide leading the way. If my readers 
laugh at our droll appearance, they are welcome — for we 
laughed at ourselves. Comfort is more than dignity in 
such a case ; and if anybody is abashed at the ludicrous 
figure he cuts, he may console himself by reflecting that 
he is in good company. In Paris there is a famous 
picture by David of Napoleon crossing the Alps, which 
represents Mm mounted on a gallant charger, his mili- 
tary cloak fl}dng in the air, while he points his soldiers 
upwards to the heights they are to scale ! This is very 
fine to look at ; but the historical fact is said to be that 
Napoleon rode over the Alps on a mule, and if he 
encountered rains and storms, he was no doubt as 
bedraggled as any Alpine tourist. But that did not 
prevent his gaining the battle of Marengo. 

But all thoughts of our appearance vanish as we 
begin to chmb the mountain side. For two hours we 
kept winding in a zigzag path through the continuous 
pine forest. At every turn in the road, or opening in 
the trees, we stopped to look at the valley below, 
where the objects grew smaller, as we receded further 
from them. All rude noises died away in the dis- 
tance, till there rose into the upper air only the sound 



UNDER THE SHADOW OF MONT BLANC. 85 

of the streams that were rushing through the valley 
below. 

At a chalet half way up the mountain was a chamois 
kept for show. As it was but a kid, it was suckled by 
a goat. But already the instinct of nature showed itself 
as the little creature leaped against the sides of his pen. 
The poor child of the mountain pined for Hberty, and 
one would be glad to set the httle prisoner free, and see 
him bound away upon the mountain side. 

Climbing, stOl climbing, another hour brings us to the 
top of the Montanvert, where we look down upon the 
Mer de Glace. Here all the party quit their mules, 
which are sent to another point, to meet us as we come 
down from the mountain — and, taking our alpenstocks in 
hand to strike into the ice, to keep ourselves from slip- 
ping, we descend to the Mer de Glace, an enormous 
glacier formed by the masses of snow and ice which 
collect during the long winters, filling up the whole 
space between two mountains. It was in studying the 
glaciers of Switzerland for a course of years, that Agassiz 
formed his glacial theory ; and in seeing here how the 
steady pressure of such enormous masses, weighing 
millions of tons, has carried down huge boulders of 
granite, that lie strewn all along its track, one can 
judge how the same causes, operating at a remote 
period, and on a vast scale, may have changed the 
whole surface of the globe. 

But we must not stop to philosophize, as we are now 
at the edge of the glacier, and need our wits about us, 
and eyes too, to keep a sharp lookout for dangerous 
places, and steady feet, and hands keeping a tight hold 
of our trusty alpenstocks. The Mer de Glace is just 
what its name implies — a Sea of Ice — and looks as if, 
when some wild torrent came tumbling through the 
pass, it had been suddenly stopped by the hand of the 



86 UNDER THE SHADOW OF MONT BLANO. 

Almiglity, and frozen as it stood. And so it stands, its 
waves daslied up on liigh, and its chasms yawning below. 
It is said to reach np into the mountains for miles. We 
can see how it goes up to the top of the gorge and 
disappears on the other side ; but those who wish to 
explore its whole extent, may walk over it or beside it 
aU day. Though dangerous in some places, yet where 
tourists cross, they can jDiek their way with a little care. 
The more timid ones cling closely to the guide, holding 
him fast by the hand. One lady of our party, who had 
four bearers to carry her in a Sedan chair, found her 
head swim as she crossed. But Clara, who had been 
gathering flowers all the way up the mountain, made 
them ijito a bouquet, which she fastened to one end of 
her alpenstock, and striking the other firmly in the ice, 
moved on with as fi*ee a step as if she were walking 
along some breezy path among our Berkshire Hills. 

But the most difficult part of the course is not in 
crossing the Mer tie Glace, but in coming down on the 
other side. It is not always faciiis descensus; it is 
sometimes diffidlis descensus. The llauvais Pas, which 
winds along the edge of the cliff, would hardl}^ be 
passable but for an iron rod fastened in the side of the 
rock, to which one clings for support, and, looking away 
from the precipice on the other side, makes the passage 
in safety. 

And now we come to the Chapeau, a little chalet 
perched on a shelf of rock, from which one can look 
down thousands of feet into the Vale of Chamouni. As 
we pass along the side of the glacier, near the end are 
some frightful crevasses, which the boldest guide would 
not dai-e to cross. The ice is constantly weai'ing away ; 
indeed so great is the dischai'ge of water fi'om the 
melting of the ice and the snow, that a river is all the 
time rushing out of it. The Ai-veirou takes its rise in 



UNDER THE SHADOW OF MONT BLANC. 87 

the Mer de Glace, while the Arve rises in anothci' glacier 
higher up the valley. 

" The Arvn and Arveiron at thy base 
Rave ceaselessly ; " 

the streams mingling with the waterfalls on the sides of 
the mountains, filling the air with a perpetual sound like 
the roaring of the sea, 

Coleridge outlines the figure of Mont Blanc as rising 
from a "silent sea of pines." Nothing can be more 
accurate than this picture of the universal forest, which 
overflows all the valleys, and reaches up the mountains 
to the edge of the snows. At such heights the pines are 
the only trees that live, and there they stand through all 
the storms of winter. Looking round on this land- 
scape, made up of forest and snow, alternately dark and 
bright, it seems as if Mont Blanc were the Great White 
Throne of the Almighty, and as if these mighty forests 
that stand quivering on the mountain side, were the 
myriads of mankind gathered in the Valley of Judgment, 
rank on rank, to hear their doom ! 

But the impression is not one wholly of terror, or 
even of unmixed awe. There is beauty as well as wild- 
ness in the scene. Nothing can exceed the quiet and 
seclusion of these mountain paths, and there is some- 
thing very sweet to the ear in 

"The murmuring pines and the hemlocks," 

which fill " the forest primeval " with their gentle sound. 
And when at evening one hears the tinkling cow-bells, 
as the herds return from the mountain pastures, there is 
a pastoral simplicity in the scene which is very touching, 
and we could understand how the Swiss air of the Banz 
des Vaches (or the returning of the cattle) should awaken 
such a feeling of home-sickness in the soldier far from 
his native mountains, that bands have been prohibited 



88 UNDER THE SHADOW OF MONT BLANO. 

from playing it in Swiss regiments enlisted in foreign 
armies. 

"When we came down from the Mer de Glace, it was 
not yet three o'clock, and before us on the opposite side 
of the valley rose another mountain, which we might 
ascend before night if we had the strength. "We felt 
a little remorse at giving the guide another half-day's 
work ; but he, foreseeing extra pay, said cheerfully that 
he could stand it ; the mule said nothing, but pricked 
up the long ears, a sign of thinking very hard, and if 
the miracle of Balaam covdd have been repeated, I think 
the poor dumb beast would have had a pretty decided 
opinion. But it being left to us, we declared for a fresh 
ascent, and once more set our faces skyward, and went 
climbing upward for two hovirs more, and well were we 
paid for the fatigue. The Flegere, facing Mont Blanc, 
commands a full view of the whole range, and as the 
clouds drifted off, we saw distinctly every peak. 

Thus elated and jubilant we set out to return. Until 
now, we had kept along with the mule, alternating a 
ride and walk, as boys are accustomed to " ride and tie " ; 
but now our eagerness could not be restrained, and we 
gave the reins to the guide to lead the patient creature 
down into the valley, while we, with unfettered limbs, 
strode joyous down the mountain side. "When we 
reached our hotel, it was seven o'clock ! We had been 
steadily in motion — except a short rest for lunch at the 
Chapeau on the mountain — for eleven hours ! 

Here ends the journey of the day, but not the moral 
of it. I hope it is not merely a professional habit that 
leads me to wind up everything with an application; but 
I cannot look upon a mountrin scene like this without 
gliding insensibly into very sober reflections. Nature 
leads to Nature's God. The late Prof. Albert Hopkins, 
of "Williams College, of blessed memory, a man of 



UNDER THE SHADOW OF MONT BLANC. 89 

science and yet of most devout spirit, who was as fond 
of the hills as a loom mountaineer, and who loved 
nothing so much as to lead his Alpine Club over the 
mountains around WiUiamstown — was accustomed, when 
he had conducted them to some high, commanding pros- 
pect, to ask whether the sight of such great scenes made 
them feel great or small f I can answer for myself that 
the impression is a mixed one ; that it both lifts me 
up and casts me down. It elevates the soul with a sense 
of the power and majesty of the Creator. The climbing 
to-day brought to mind the old, majestic hymn, 

I sing the mighty power of God, 
That made the mountains rise. 

But in another view the sight of these great objects 
of nature is depressing. It makes one feel his own lit- 
tleness and insignificance. I look up at Mont Blanc 
with a telescope, and can just see a partj^ climbing near 
the Grands Mulcts. They look like creeping insects ; 
and like insects they are in the duration of their exist- 
ence, compared with the everlasting forms of nature. 
The flying clouds that cast their shadows on the head of 
Mont Blanc are not more fleeting. They pass like birds 
and are gone, while the mountains stand fast forever, 
and with their eternity seem to mock the fugitive exist- 
ence of man upon the earth. And so it is that those 
terrible mountains crush me with their awful weight. 
They make me feel that I am but an atom in the uni- 
verse ; a moth whose ceasing to exist would be no more 
than the blowing out of a candle. Nor am I siirprised 
that men who live among the mountains are sometimes 
so overwhelmed with the greatness of nature, that they 
are ready to acquiesce in their own annihilation, or 
absorption in the universal being. 

Talking with Father Hyacinthe the other evening 
(as we sat on the terrace of the Hotel Beau Rivage at 



90 UNDER THE SHADOW OF MONT BLANC. 

Geneya, overlooking the lake), he spoke of the alarming 
spread of unbelief in Europe, and quoted a distinguished 
professor of Zurich, of whom he spoke with great respect, 
as a man of learning and of excellent character, who 
had frankly confessed to him that he did not beheve in 
the immortality of the soul ; and when Father Hyacinthe 
replied in amazement, " If I believed this I would go 
and throw myself into the Lake of Zurich," the professor 
answered with the utmosti seriousness, "That is not a 
just religious feeUng ; if you believe in God as an infin- 
ite Creator, you ought to be loilling to cease to exist ; 
that your own little life should perish ; acknowledging 
that God alone is worthy to live eternally ! " 

Strange as it may seem, sometliing of this feeling 
comes to every thoughtful mind from long contemplation 
of nature. In the presence of the works of God, one 
feels that he is absokitely nothing ; and that it is of small 
moment whether he exists hereafter or not ; and he could 
almost be willing that his life should expire, like a lamp 
that has burned itself out ; that he should pass out of 
being, that God might be God alone ! If shut up in these 
mountains, as in a prison from which I could not escape, 
I could easily sink into this gloom and despondency. 

Pascal has tried to break the force of this over- 
whelming impression of the awfulness of nature, when, 
speaking of the greatness and the httleness of man, he 
says : " It is not necessary for the whole universe to 
arm itself to destroy him : a drop of water, a breath of 
air, is sufficient to kill him. And yet even in death man 
is greater than the universe, for he knows that lie is dying, 
while the universe knows not anything." This is finely 
expressed, but it does not Lighten the depth of our 
despair. For that we must turn to One greater than 
Pascal, who has said, "Not a sparrow faUeth to the 
ground without your Father ; be of good cheer there- 



TJNDEK THE SHADOW OF MONT BLANC. 91 

fore, ye are of more value than many sparrows." Nature 
is great, but God is greater I 

In riding through the Alps — especially through deep 
passes, where walls of rock on either hand almost touch 
the sky — it seems as if the whole world were a realm of 
Death, and this the universal tomb. But even here I see 
erected on almost every hilltop a cross (for the Savoy- 
ards are a very religious people), and this sign of our 
salvation, standing on every high place, amid the light- 
ning and storm, and amid the winter snows, seems to be 
a protest against that law of death which reigns on every 
side. Great indeed is the realm of Death, but greater 
still is the realm of Life ; and though God only hath 
immortality, and is indeed " the only Being worthy to 
live forever," yet joined to Him, we may have a part in 
His eternity, and live when the everlasting mountains, 
and the great globe itself, shall have passed away. 



CHAPTER X. 

SWITZERLAND. 

We left the Vale of Chamouni with the feeling of 
being let down from a mount of vision. Slowly we rode 
up the valley, often turning to take a last lingering look 
at the white head of Mont Blanc, and then, like Bunyan's 
Pilgrim, we " went on our way and saw him no more." 

But we did not come out of Chamouni as we went 
into it, on the top of a diligence, with six horses, " roll- 
ing forward with impetuous speed " over a magnificent 
highway. We had nothing before us but a common 
mountain-road, and our chariot was only a rude wagon, 
made with low wheels to go up and down steep ascents. 
It was only for two, which suited us the better, as 
we had nature all to oiu'selves, and could indulge our 
pleasure and our admiration without restraint. Thus 
mounted, we went creeping up the pass of the Tete 
Noire. Nature is a wise economist, and, after unveiling 
Mont Blanc to the traveller, lets him down gradually. If 
we had not come from those more awful heights and 
abysses, we should consider this day's ride unsurpassed 
in savage grandeur. Great mountains tower up on 
either hand, their lower sides dark with pines, and their 
crests capped with snow. Here by the roadside a cross 
marks the spot where an avalanche, falling from yonder 
peak, buried two travellers. At some seasons of the year 
the road is almost impassable. Here and there are heaps 
of stones to mark its track where the winter drifts are 
piled so high in these gorges that all trace of a path is 
lost. Even now in mid-summer the path is wild enough 
to satisfy the most romantic tastes. The day was in 
harmony with the scene. Our fine weather was all gone. 



SWITZERLAND. 93 

Clouds darkened the sky, and angry gusts of wind and 
rain swept in our faces. But what could check one's 
spirits let loose in such a scene ? Often we got out and 
walked to work off our excitement, stopping at every 
turn in the road that opened some new view, or 
sheltering ourselves under a rock from the rain, and 
Hstening with deHght to hear the pines murmur and the 
torrents roar. 

The ride over the Tete Noire takes a whole day. The 
road zigzags in every direction, winding here and there 
to get a foothold — now hugging the side of the moun- 
tain, creeping along the edge of a precipice, where it 
makes one dizzy to look down ; now rounding a point 
which seems to hang over some great depth ; or seeking 
a safer path by a tunnel through the rocks. Up and 
down, hither and thither we go, but stiU everywhere 
encompassed with mountains, till at last one long 
climb — a hard pull for the horses — brings us to a height 
from which we descry in the distance the roofs and 
spires of a town, and begin to descend. But we are 
still more than an hour winding our way through the 
gentle slopes and among the Swiss chalets, till we rattle 
through the stony streets of Martigny, a place of some 
importance, from being at the foot of the Alps, and the 
point from which to make the ascent of the Great Saint 
Bernard. It was by this route that Napoleon in 1800 
led his army over the Alps ; the long lines of infantry 
and artillery passed up this valley, and climbed yonder 
mountain side, a hundred men being harnessed to a 
single cannon, and dragging it upward by sheer strength 
of muscle. Of all the host that made that stupendous 
march, perhaps not one survives ; but the mountains are 
still here, as the monument of their great achievement. 
And the same Hospice, where the monks gave bread and 
wine to the passing soldiers, is on the summit still, and 



94 SWITZERLAND. 

the good monks, with their faithful dogs, watch to rescue 
lost travellers. Attached to it is a monastery here in 
Martigny, to which the old monks, when worn out with 
years of exposure and hardship in living above the 
clouds, can retire to die in peace. 

At Martigny we take oiu' leave of mountain roads and 
mountain transport, as we touch a railroad, and are once 
more within the limits of civilization. Stepping from 
our little wagon (which we do not despise, since it has 
carried us safely over an Alpine pass) into a luxurious 
railway carriage, we are whirled swiftly down the VaUey 
of the Bhone to the Lake of Geneva. 

Of course all romantic tourists stop at Villeneuve, to 
visit the Castle of ChiUon, which Byi-on has made so 
famous. I had been under its ai"ches and in its vaulted 
chambers years ago, and was surprised at the fresh 
interest which I had in revisiting the spot ; in going 
down into the dungeon in which Bonnivard was con- 
fined, and seeing the piUar to which he was chained for 
so many years that his steps wore into the stone floor! 
The pillar is now covered with the names of pUgrims. 
Adjoining what was called, as if in mockery, the Hall of 
Justice, is the Chamber of Question, where prisoners 
were put to the torture. The post is still standing to 
which they were bound, with the mai'ks upon it of the 
hot irons that were applied to their writhing limbs! 
Under this is the dungeon where the condemned passed 
their last night before execution, chained to a sloping 
rock, above which, dimly seen in the gloom, is the cross- 
beam to which they were hung, and near the floor is an 
opening in the wall, through which their bodies were 
cast into the lake. In another part of the castle is the 
oubliette — a pit or well, into which a victim was thrown, 
and fell into some unknown depth, and was seen no 
more ! Such was " man's inhumanity to man " in the 



SWITZERLAND. 95 

age of chivalry ! Surely civilization has made some 
progi'ess since those times of cruelty and blood. 

Leaving these gloomy dungeons, we come up into 
air and sunshine, and skim along the Lake of Geneva 
by the railway, which, lying between sea and shore, pre- 
sents a succession of charming views. On one side all 
the slopes are covered with vines, which are placed on 
this southern exposure to ripen in the sun ; on the other 
is the lake, with the mountains beyond. 

When I was first in Switzerland, in 1848, such a thing 
as a railroad was unknown. Now they are everywhere, 
and though it may seem very prosaic to travel among 
the mountains by steam, still it is a great convenience, 
in getting from one point to another. Of course, when 
it comes to climbing the Alps, one must take to mules 
or to his feet. 

Rising from the lake at Lausanne to the heights 
around the city, the raih'oad plunges into a tunnel, and 
emerges into a rolling country which is richly cultivated. 
At Fribourg the two suspension bridges are the things 
to see, and the great organ the thing to hea^^; from which 
one may pass on to Berne, the capital of Switzerland, a 
compact and prosperous town of some forty thousand 
inhabitants. The environs, with their parks and long 
avenues of trees, are very beautiful. But what one may 
see in Berne is nothing to what may be seen from it, 
which is the whole chain of the Bernese Oberland. 
Riding out of the town towards evening, the sun burst 
through the clouds, and lighted up a long range of 
snowy peaks. This was the Alpine afterglow, which we 
watched tni it crept to the last mountain top, and faded 
into night. 

A few miles from Berne is the Lake of Thun, a sheet 
of water, which, like Loch Lomond and other Scotch 
lakes, derives its chief beauty from reflecting in its 



96 SWITZEBLAND. 

placid bosom the forms of giant mountains. Between 
Thun and Brienz lies the little village fitly called from 
its position Interlachen (Between the lakes). This is 
the heart of the Bernese Oberland. Interlachen lies in 
the very lap of the mountains. But though so near, our 
eyes were holden by the absence of the sun, so that we 
could not see them, and we thought we should have to 
leave without even a sight of the Jungfrau. But on the 
morning of our departure the clouds were gone — and 
there it stood revealed to us in all its splendor, a pyra- 
mid of snow, only a little less lofty than Mont Blanc 
himself. Having this glorious vision vouchsafed to us, 
we departed in peace. 

Sailing over the Lake of Brienz, as we had over that 
of Thun, we came again to a mountain pass, which had 
to be crossed by diligence ; and here, as before, mounted 
in the front seat beside the postilion, we feasted our 
eyes on the Alpine scenery. For nearly two hours we 
were ascending at the side of the Vale of Meyringen, 
from which, as we climbed higher and higher, we looked 
down to a greater depth, and often at a turn of the road 
could see back to the Lake of Brienz, thus taking in, 
in one view, lake and valley and mountain. If it was 
exciting to go up, it was hardly less to come down. The 
road is so smooth that we were able to trot rapidly down 
the slope, and, as it turns here and there to get an easy 
grade, we had a hundred lovely views down the valley 
which was opening before us, till we came to the Lake 
of the Four Cantons, over which a steamer brought us 
to Lucerne. 

My friend Dr. Holland has spoken of the place where 
I now write as "the spot on earth which seemed to him 
nearest to heaven," and surely there are few where one 
feels so much like saying, "This is my rest, and here 



SWITZERLAND. 97 

will I dwell." The mountains shut out the world, and 
the peaceful lake invites to repose. 

There are two ways to enjoy a beautiful sheet of 
water — from its shores, and from its surface. We have 
tried both. The first evening we spent a couple of 
hours on the lake, that was like floating in a gondola 
on moonHght evenings in Venice. Indeed the boat- 
men here are not unlike the gondoUers. They have 
the same way of standing, instead of sitting, in the boat 
and pushing, instead of pxilling, the oars. They man- 
age their little crafts with great skill, and shoot swiftly 
through the water. Taking a row of several miles to a 
viUa on the lake, where we expected to meet a friend, 
we found it occupied by another, a lady, who, though 
she came with a retinue large enough to fill all the 
rooms, wished to be incognita. She proved to be the 
Queen of Saxony, who, Uke all the rest of the world, was 
glad to have a little retirement, and to escape from the 
stiffness of court life, to enjoy herself on these quiet 
shores. While we were in the grounds, she came out, 
and walked under the trees, in most simple attire : a fair- 
haired daughter of the North (she is a Swedish princess), 
who won the hearts of the Saxon people by her care for 
the wounded in the Franco-German war. She shows 
her quiet tastes, in that, instead of going off to fashion- 
able watering-places, she seeks seclusion in a spot where 
she can sit by tranquil waters, under the shadow of great 
mountains. 

A few miles from Lucerne is the Eighi, which is 
exalted above other mountains of Switzerland, not 
because it is higher — for, in fact, it is much lower than 
many of them — but that it stands alone, with an out- 
look on all sides — a view of vast extent and of infinite 
variety. The mountain is easier of access now, than 
when I walked up it in my younger days, for now there 



98 SWITZERLAND. 

is a railroad to the very top. The grade is very steep, 
and is only overcome by peculiar machinery. The 
engine is behind, and pushes the car up the ascent. 
Of course, if any accident were to happen by which the 
train were to break loose, it would descend with tre- 
mendous velocity. But this is guarded against by a 
central rail, into which a wheel fits with cogs ; so that, 
in case of accident to the engine, by shutting down the 
brakes the whole could be held fast, as in a vice, and 
be immovable. The convenience of the road is cer- 
tainly very great, but the sensation is peculiar — of being 
" boosted " up into the clouds. 

But once there, we are raised into a higher region, 
and breathe a purer air. The eye ranges over the fair- 
est portion of Switzerland. Seen from such a height, 
the country seems almost a plain ; and yet viewed more 
closely, we see hills and valleys, diversified with mead- 
ows and forests. We count a dozen lakes, while all 
round the horizon stretches the great chain of the Alps, 
covered with snow. 

With such beautiful scenes in nature. Lucerne has 
one work of art, which impresses me as much as any- 
thing of the kind in Eui'ope. I refer to the Lion of 
Thorwaldsen, intended to commemorate the courage and 
fidelity of the Swies guards of Louis XVI., who, in 
attempting to defend him, were massacred in Paris on 
the fatal 10th of August, 1792. Never was a great act 
of courage more simply yet more grandly illustrated. 
The size is colossal, the work being cut in the side of 
a rock. The lion is twentj^-eight feet long. Nothing 
can be more majestic than his attitude. The noble 
beast is dying ; he has exhausted his strength in battle ; 
but even as he sinks in death, he stretches out one 
huge paw over the shield which bears on it the hlies 
of France, the emblem of that royal power which he 



SWITZERLAND. 99 

haa vainly endeavored to protect. There is something 
almost human in the face, in the deep-set eyes, and 
the drooping mouth. It is not only the death agony,, 
but the greater agony of defeat, which is expressed in 
that leonine countenance. Nothing in ancient sculpture, 
not even the Dying Gladiator, gives more of mournful 
dignity in death. What a contrast to the lions round the 
monument of Nelson in Trafalgar Square in London! 
Sir Edwin Landseer, though a great painter of animals, 
was not so great as a sculptor ; and after working 
for years on his design, finally, it is said, modelled the 
colossal figure after an old lion in the Zoological Gar- 
dens ; and then had the four cast from one mould ! 
One type would hardly have suited the genius of Thor- 
waldsen. 

Coming back to the hotel at evening, and looking out 
upon the lake, it seemed as if the whole horizon were 
illumined by a conflagration. This was soon explained 
by the rising of the full moon, which cast a flood of 
light over lake and mountain. It was as if heaven drew 
nearer in this blending of the earth and sky. 



CHAPTER XI. 

ON THE BHINE. 

He that goeth up into a high mountain, must needs 
come down. After these many days among the Alps, 
passing from Chamouni to the Bernese Oberland, we 
must descend into the plains. The change is a pleasant 
one after so much excitement and fatigue. One cannot 
bear too much exaltation. After having dwelt awhile 
among the sublimities of Nature, it is a relief to come 
down to her more common and famihar aspects; the 
sunshine is doubly grateful after the gloom of Alpine 
passes ; meadows and groves are more pleasant to the 
eye than snow-clad peaks ; and sweeter to the ear 
than the roar of mountain torrents, is the murmur of 
softly-flowing streams. From Lucerne oui- way lies 
over the undulating country which we had surveyed 
the day before from the summit of the Righi, winding 
round the Lake of Zug, and ending at the Lake of 
Zurich. 

The position of Zurich is very much like that of 
Lucerne, at the end of a lake, and girded by hiUs. A 
ride around the town shows many beautiful points of 
view, on one of which stands the University, that has 
an European reputation. Zurich has long been a lit- 
erary centre of some importance, not only for Switzer- 
land, but for Germany, as it is on the border of both. 
The University gathers students from different coun- 
tries, even from Russia. Our day ended with a sail on 
the lake, which at evening is alive with boats, glancing 
here and there in the twilight. Then rows of lamps are 
lighted aU along the shore, which are reflected in the 
lake ; the summer gardens are thronged, and bands fill 



ON THE RHINE. 101 

the air with music. The gayety of such a scene I enjoy 
most from a little distance ; but there are few more 
exquisite pleasures than to lie motionless floating, and 
listening to music that comes stealing over the water. 
Then the boatman dipped his oar gently, as if fearing 
to break the charm, and rowed us back to our hotel ; 
but the music continued to a late hour, and lulled 
us to sleep. 

From Zvirich, a morning ride brings one to Schafif- 
hausen^ and to the Falls of the Rhine, which, if not 
so grand as Niagara, are certainly very beautiful. 

Here beginneth the Black Forest, that may well 
attract the readers of romance as the scene of many of 
the legends which abound in German Uterature; that 
may be said to be haunted with the heroes of fiction, as 
Scott has peopled the glens of Scotland. In the Forest 
itself there is nothing imposing. It is spread over a 
large tract of country, like the woods of Northern New 
York. The most remarkable thing in it is the railroad 
itself, as a piece of engineering, since there are great 
obstacles in the formation of the country. If there 
were only one high mountain, it could be tunnelled, but 
instead of a single chain which has to be crossed, the 
Forest is broken up into innumerable hills, detached 
from each other, and offering few points of contact as 
a natural bridge for a road to pass over. To make 
the ascents and descents without too steep a grade, it 
is necessary to wind about in the most extraordinary 
manner. The road turns and twists in endless convolu- 
tions. Often we could see it at three different points at 
the same time, above and below, winding hither and 
thither, as in a labyrinth ; so that it was impossible 
to tell which way we were going. I counted thirty- 
seven tunnels within a very short distance. Our engine 
went whirling about, puffing and screaming like a wild 



102 ON THE RHINE. 

beast caught in the mountains, and rushing in every 
direction, and even thrusting its head into the earth, 
to escape its pursuers. At length the hunted fugitive 
plunged through the side of a mountain, and escaped 
down the valley. 

And now we are in a land of streams, where the 
mighty rivers begin their course. That Kttle brook by 
the roadside, which any barefooted boy would wade 
across, and an athletic leaper would almost clear at a 
single bound, is the beginning of the longest river in 
Europe, which, rising here among the hOls of the Black 
Forest, takes its way south and east tUl it sweeps past 
the Austrian capital as the "dark-rolling Danube," and 
bears the commerce of an empire to the Black Sea. 

Soon our feUow-travellers begin to diverge to the 
watering places along the Rhine — to Baden and Hom- 
burg and Ems — where so much of the fashion of the 
Continent gathers every summer. But another place that 
had more interest to me was Strasburg, the capital of iU- 
fated Alsace — which, since I saw it before, had sustained 
one of the most terrible sieges in history. Crossing the 
Rhine from Kehl, where the Germans planted their 
batteries, we passed through the walls and moats which 
girdle the ancient town, and made it one of the most 
strongly fortified places in Europe, and were supposed 
to render it a Gibraltar, that could not be taken. But 
no walls can stand before modem artillery. The Ger- 
mans planted their guns at two and three miles distance, 
and threw their shells into the heart of the city. On 
entering the gates wc perceived on every side the 
traces of that terrible bombardment. For weeks, day 
and night, a rain of fire poured on the devoted town. 
Shells were continually bursting in the streets ; the 
darkness of midnight was lighted up with the flames of 
burning dwellings. The people fled to their cellars, and 



ON THE RHINE. 103 

to every underground place, for safety. But it was like 
fleeing at the last judgment to dens and caves, and 
calling on rocks to cover them from the inevitable 
destruction. At length, after a prolonged and heroic 
resistance, when all means of defence were gone, and the 
city must have been utterly destroyed, it surrendered. 

Now, of course, the traces of the siege have been 
removed, so far as possible. But still, after five years, 
there are large pubhc buildings of which only blackened 
walls remain. Others show huge gaps and rents made 
by the shot of the besiegers, and, worst of all, every- 
where are the hated German soldiers in the streets. 
Strasburg is a conquered city ! It has been torn from 
Trance and transferred to Germany, without the consent 
of its own peoj)le ; and though the conquerors try to 
soften the bitterness of subjugation, they cannot succeed 
in doing the impossible. The people feel that they have 
been conquered, and the iron has entered into their 
souls. One can see it in a silent, sullen look, which is 
not natural to Frenchmen. This is the more strange, 
because a large part of the people of Alsace are 
Germans by race and language. In the markets, among 
the men and women who bring their produce for sale, 
I heard little else than the gutteral sounds so famihar 
on the other side of the Rhine. But no matter for this : 
for two hundred years the country has belonged to 
France, and the people are French in their traditions — 
they are proud of the French glory ; and if it were left 
to them, they would vote to-morrow, by an overwhelm- 
ing majority, to be re-annexed to France. 

Meanwhile the German Government is using every 
effort to make over the people from Frenchmen into 
Germans. It has introduced the German language 
into the schools. It has even re-named the streets ! It 
looked strange indeed to see on all the corners German 



104 ON THE EHINE. 

names in place of the old familiar French ones. This 
is oppression carried to absurdity. If the new rulers 
had chosen to translate the French names into German, 
for the convenience of the new military occupants, that 
might have been well, and the two might have stood 
side by side. But no ; the old names ai*e taken down, 
and Rue is turned into Strasse on every street comer in 
Strasburg. Was ever anything so ridiculous? They 
might as weU compel the people to change their names. 
The consequence of all this petty and constant oppres- 
sion is that great numbers emigrate. And even those 
who remain do not take to their new masters. The ele- 
ments do not mix. The French do not become Ger- 
mans. A country is not so easily denationalized. The 
conquerors occupy the town, but in their social relations 
they are alone. We were told that if a German officer 
entered a public cafe or restaurant, the French instantly 
rose and left. It is the same thing which I saw at Ven- 
ice and at Milan in the days of the old Austrian occupa- 
tion. That was a most unnatural possession by an alien 
race, which had to be driven out with battle and slaugh- 
ter before things could come into their natural and 
rightful relations. And so I fear it will have to be here. 
This annexation of Alsace to Germany may seem to some 
a wonderful stroke of pohtical sagacity, or a military 
necessity, the gaining of a great strategic point ; but to 
our poor American judgment it seems both a blunder 
and a crime, that will yet have to be atoned for with 
blood. It is a perpetual humiliation and irritation to 
France ; a constant defiance to another and far more 
terrible war. 

The ancient cathedral suffered greatly during the 
bombardment. It is said the Germans tried to spare it, 
and aimed their guns away from it ; but as it was the 
most prominent object in the town, towering up far 



ON THE RHINE. 105 

above everything else, it could not but he hit many 
times. Its spire, the loftiest in the world, was struck 
by cannon balls ; arches and pinnacles were broken ; 
numbers of shells crashed through the roof, and burst 
on the marble floor. Many of the windows, with their 
old stained glass, which no modern art can equal, were 
fatally shattered. It is a wonder that the whole edifice 
was not destroyed. But its foundations were solid, and 
it stood the shock. Since the siege, of course, every- 
thing has been done to cover up the rents and gaps, and 
to restore it to its former beauty. And waat a beauty it 
has, with outlines so simple and majestic ! The columns 
along the nave, which support the roof, are enormous, 
and yet they spring towards heaven, soaring upwards 
like over-arching elms, till the eye aches to look up to 
the vaulted roof, that seems only like a lower sky. 

One other feature of Strasburg has been unaffected 
by political changes. One set of inhabitants have not 
emigrated, but remain in spite of the German occupa- 
tion — the storks ! Was anything ever so queer as to see 
tlaese long-legged, long-necked birds, sitting tranqiiilly 
on the roofs of the houses, flapping their lazy wings over 
the dwellings of a populous city, and actually building 
their nests on the tops of the chimneys ? It makes one 
feel as if everything was turned upside down, and the 
very course of nature reversed, in this strange country. 

Another sign that we are getting out of our latitude, 
and coming farther North, is the change of language. 
We found that even in Switzerland. At Geneva it was 
French ; but at Berne everybody addressed us in Ger- 
man. In the Swiss Parliament speeches are made in 
three languages — German, French, and Italian — since 
all are spoken in one or other of the Cantons. 

But no harsh and guttural sounds, and no gloomy 
political events, can destroy the pleasure of a journey 



106 ON THE RHINE. 

along the Rhine. The next day we resumed our course 
through the grand duchy of Baden. At one of the sta- 
tions a gentleman looking out of a carriage window 
called me by name, and introduced himself as Dr. Evans, 
of Paris — a countryman of ours, well known to aU who 
have visited the French capital, where he has lived for 
a quarter of a century, and made for himself a most hon- 
orable position in his profession, in both the American 
and foreign community. I had known him when he first 
came to Paris, just after the Revolution of 1848. He 
was then a young man, in the beginning of his success- 
ful career. He has been yet more honorably distin- 
guished as the gallant American who saved the Empress 
in 1870. The story is too well known to be repeated at 
length. The substance may be given in a few sentences. 
When the news of the surrender at Sedan of the Emperor 
and his whole army reached Paris, it caused a sudden 
revolution — the Empire was declared to have fallen, and 
the excited populace were ready to burst into the pal- 
ace, and the Empress might have been sacrificed to their 
fury. Fleeing through the Louvre, she called a cab in 
the street and drove to the house of Dr. Evans, whom she 
had long known. Here she was concealed for the night, 
and the next day he took her in his own carriage, hiding 
her from observation, and travelling rapidly, but in a 
way to attract no attention, to the sea-coast, and did not 
leave her till he had seen her safe in England. Con- 
nected with this escape were many thrilHng details, 
which cannot be repeated here. I am very proud that 
she owed her safety to one of my countrymen. It was 
pleasant to be remembered by him after so many years. 
We got into the same carriage, and talked of the past, 
tiU we separated at Carlsruhe, from which he was going 
to Kissingen, while we went to Stuttgart, to visit an 
American family who came to Europe under my care 



ON THE KHINE. 107 

in the Great Eastern in 1867, and have continued to 
reside abroad ever since for the education of their chil- 
dren. For such a purpose, Stuttgart is admirably fitted. 
Though the capital of the Kingdom of Wurtemberg, it 
is a very quiet city. Young people in search of gayety 
may think it dull, but that is its recommendation for 
those who seek profit rather than amusement. The 
schools are said to be excellent ; and for persons who 
wish to spend a few years abroad, pursuing their stud- 
ies, it would be hard to find a better place. 

To make this visit we were obliged to leave Stuttgart 
at midnight to get back to the Ehine. Night riding on 
European railways, where there are no sleeping-cars, is 
not very agreeable. However, in the first-class carriages 
one can make a sort of half couch by pulling out the 
cushioned seats, and thus bestowed we managed to pass 
the night, which was not very long, as daybreak comes 
early in this latitude at this season of the year. 

But fatigues vanish when at Mayence we go on board 
the steamer, and are at last afloat on the Rhine — " the 
exulting and abounding river " — and drop down the 
enchanted stream, past aU the ruined castles, famed in 
story, which hang on the crests of the hills. Every pic- 
turesque ruin has its legend, which clings to it like vines 
to the mouldering wall. All day long we are floatmg in 
the past, and in a romantic past. Tourists sit on deck, 
with their guide-books in hand, looking up to every 
crumbling tower, connected with some tradition of the 
Middle Ages, and repeating : 

The castled crag of Drachenfels 
Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, 

Whose breast of waters broadly swells 
Between the banks which bear the vine. 

Thus floating onward as in a dream, we reached 
Cologne on a Saturday afternoon, and found at the 



108 ON THE RHINE. 

Hotel du Nord a spacious hosteby, in which we were 
content to stay quietly for two or three days. 

Cologne has got an ill name from Coleridge's iU- 
favored compliment, which implied that its streets had 
not always the fragrance of that Cologne water which it 
exports to all countries. But he has done it injustice 
for the sake of a witty epigram. If he has not, the place 
has much improved since his day, and if not yet quite a 
flower garden, it is at least as clean and decent as most 
of the Continental cities. It has received a great impulse 
from the extension of railroads on the Continent, being 
in the direct line from England to the Rhine and Switz- 
erland, and to the German watering-places, and indeed 
to every part of Central Europe. Hence it has grown 
rapidly, and become a large and prosperous city. 

But to the traveller in search of sights, every object 
in Cologne hides its head in presence of the cathe- 
dral, the most magnificent Gothic structure ever reared 
by human hands. Begun six hundred years ago, it is 
not finished yet ! For four hundred years the work 
was suspended, and the huge crane that stood on one 
of its towers, as it hung in air, was a sad token of the 
great but unfinished design. But lately the German 
Government, with that vigor which characterizes every- 
thing in the new empire, has undertaken its completion, 
at a cost of miUions of dollars. To convey any idea of 
this marvellous structure by a description, is impossible. 
It is a forest in stone. Looking through its long nave 
and aisles, one is reminded of the avenues of elms in 
New Haven more than of any work of man. Ascending 
by the stone steps to the roof, at least to the first roof, we 
began to get some idea of the vastness of the whole. 
Passing into the interior at this height, we made the 
circuit of the gallery, from which men looked very small 
who were walking about on the pavement of the cathe- 



ON TflE BHlKE. 109 

dral. The sacristan who had conducted us thus far, told 
us we had now ascended one hundred steps, and that, if 
we chose to mount a hundred more, we could get to the 
main roof — the highest present accessible point — for the 
towers were not yet finished, which were further to be 
surmounted by lofty spires. When completes the crosses 
which they lift into the air wiU be more than five hun- 
dred feet above the earth ! 

The cathedral boasts great treasures and holy relics 
— such as the bones of the Magi, the three Kings of the 
East, who came to see the Saviour at His birth, which, 
whoso can believe, is welcome to his faith. But the one 
thing which all must recognize, since it stands before 
their eyes, is the magnificence of this temple of the 
Almighty. The services attract a large attendance, and 
not of mere sightseers, but of devout worshippers, who 
join in the responses and the anthems with heart and 
voice. Who would not join in a worship which brings 
him nearer to his fellow-beings as well as nearer to God? 
"The religious sentiment," says Madame de Stael, 
" unites men intimately with one another, when self-love 
and fanaticism do not make of it an object of jealousy 
and of hatred. To pray together — in whatever lan- 
guage, in whatever rite — is the most touching fraternity 
of hope and of sympathy which men can contract upon 
this earth." 



CHAPTEK Xn. 

BELGIUM AND HOLLAND, 

If any of mj readers should follow our route upon 
the map, he will see that we take a somewhat 2dgzag 
course, flj^ing off here and there to see what most 
attracts attention. The facilities for travel in Europe 
are so great, that one can at any time be transported in 
a few hoiu's into a new country. The junior partner in 
this travelhng company of two has lately been reading 
Motley's histories, and been filled with enthusiasm for 
the Netherlands, which fought so bravely against Spain, 
and nothing would do but to tru'n aside to see the " Low 
Countries." So, instead of going east from Cologne into 
the heart of Germany, we turned west to make a short 
detour into Belgium and Holland, that are quite unique 
and furnish a study by themselves. They lie in a corner 
of the Continent, looking out upon the North Sea, and 
seem to form a kind of eddy, unaffected by the great 
current of the political life of Europe. They do not 
belong to the number of the Great Powers, and do not 
have to pay for glory by large armies and perpetual Avars. 

Belgium is one of the smaller kingdoms still left on 
the map of Europe, not yet swallowed up by the great 
devourers of nations ; and which, if it has less glory, 
has more Hberty and more real happiness than some of 
its more powerful neighbors. If it has not the form of 
a republic, it has all the liberty which any reasonable 
man could desire. Its standing army is small — but 
forty or fifty thousand men ; though in case of war it 
could put a hundred thousand under arms. But this 
would be a mere mouthful for some of the great German 
armies. Its security, therefore, lies not in its ability to 



BELGIUM AND HOLLAND. Ill 

resist attack, but in the fact that from its very smallness 
it does not excite the envy or the fear or the covetous- 
ness of its neighbors, and that, between them ail, it is 
very convenient to have this strip of neutral territory. 
During the late war between France and Germany it 
prospered greatly ; the danger to business enterprises 
elsewhere led many to look upon this little country, as 
in the days of the Flood the ante-diluvians might have 
looked upon some point of land that had not yet been 
reached by the waters that covered the earth, to which 
they could flee for safety. Hence the disasters of others 
gave a great impulse to its commercial affairs. 

Antwerp, where we ended our first day's journey, is a 
city that has had a gi'eat history. Three hundred years 
ago it was one of the first commercial cities of Europe, 
the Venice of the North, and received in its waters ships 
from all parts of the earth. Recently it has had a par- 
tial revival of its former commercial greatness. The 
forest of masts now lying in the Scheldt tells of its 
renewed prosperity. 

But strangers do not come here to see fleets of ships, 
as at London or Liverpool, but to see that which is old 
and historic. Antwerp has one of the notable Cathe- 
drals of the Continent, which impresses travellers most 
if they come directly from America. But coming from 
the Rhine, it suffers by comparison, as it has nothing of 
the heaven-soaring columns and arches of the great 
Minster of Cologne. And then its condition is dilapi- 
dated. It is not tinisded, and there is no attempt to 
finish it. One of the towers is complete, and the other 
is only half way up, where it has been capped over, 
and so remained for centuries, and perhaps will remain 
forever. And its surroundings are of the meanest 
description. Instead of standing in an open square, 
with ample space around it to show its full proportions, 



112 BELGIUM AND HOLLAND. 

it is hedged in by shops, which are backed up against 
its very walls. Thus the architectural effect is half 
destroyed. It is a shame that it should be left in such 
a state — that, while Pnissia, a Protestant country, is 
spending millions to restore the Cathedral of Cologne, 
Belgium, a Catholic country, and a rich one too (with no 
war on hand to drain its resources), should not devote 
a little of its wealth to keeping in proper order and 
respect this venerable monument of the past. 

And yet not aU the littleness of its present surround- 
ings can wholly rob the old Cathedral of its majesty. 
Here it stands, as it has stood from generation to genera- 
tion, and out from all this meanness and dirt it lifts 
its head towards heaven. Though only one tower is 
finished, that is very lofty (as any one will find who 
climbs the hundreds of stone steps to the top, from 
which the eye ranges over almost the whole of Belgium, 
a vast plain, dotted with cities and villages), and being 
wrought in open arches, it has the appearance of fretted 
work, so that Napoleon said " it looked as if made of 
Mechhn lace." And there, high in the ak, hangs a 
chime of bells, that every quarter of an hour rings out 
some soft aerial melody. It has a strange effect, in 
walking across the Place St. Antoine, to hear this deli- 
cious rain dropping down as it were out of the clouds. 
We almost wonder that the market people can go about 
their business, while there is such heavenly music in the 
upper air. 

But the glory of the Cathedral of Antwerp is within — 
not in the church itself, but in the great paintiugs which 
it enshrines. The interior is cold and naked, owing to 
the entire absence of color to give it warmth. The 
walls are glaring white. We even saw them white- 
washing the columns and arches, as if they would 
belittle the impression of one of the great churches of 



BELGIUM &m) HOLLAND. 113 

the Middle Ages ! If only taste were to be considered, 
I wish Belgium could be annexed, for a while at least, to 
Germany, that its Government might take this venerable 
Cathedral in hand, and, by clearing away the rubbish 
around it, and giving a softer color to the glaring white 
walls within, restore it to its former majesty and beauty. 

But no surroundings, however poor and cold, can 
destroy the immortal paintings with which it is illu- 
mined and glorified. Until now I did not feel much 
enthusiasm for the works of Rubens, although it be rank 
heresy to say so. Many of his pictures seem to me 
artistic monstrosities, they are on such a colossal scale. 
The men are all giants, and the women all amazons, and 
even his holy children, his seraphs, as well as his cupids, 
are fat Dutch babies. His object in every painting of 
the human figure seems to be to display his knowledge 
of anatomy ; and the bodies are often twisted anh 
contorted as if to show the enormous development of 
muscle in the giant limbs. This is very well if one is 
painting a Hercules or a gladiator. But to paint com- 
mon men and women in such huge proportions is not 
pleasing. The series of pictures in the Louvre, in which 
Marie de Medicis is introduced in all sorts of dramatic 
attitudes, never stirred my admiration, when standing 
before those huge canvasses, although one for whose 
opinion in such matters I had infinite respect, used to 
reply archly, that I " could hardly claim to be an author- 
ity in painting." I admit it ; but that is my opinion 
nevertheless, which I adhere to with all the proverbial 
tenacity of the free and independent American citizen. 

But I do repent me now, as I come into the presence 
of paintings whose treatment, like their subject, is divine. 
There are two such in the Cathedral of Antwerp — the 
Elevation of the Cross and the Descent from the Cross. 



114 BELGIUM (^D HOLLAND. 

The latter is generally regarded as the masterpiece of 
Rubens ; but they are worthy of each other. 

In the Elevation of the Cross our Saviour has been 
nailed to the fatal tree, which the Roman soldiers are 
raising to plant it in the earth. The form is that of a 
living man. The hands and feet are streaming with 
blood, and the body droops as it hangs with its full 
weight on the nails. But the look is not of death, but 
of life. The countenance has an expression of suffering, 
yet not of mere physical pain ; the agony is more than 
himaan ; as the eyes are turned upward, there is more 
than mortal majesty in the look — there is divinity as 
well as humanity — it is the dying God ! 

In the Descent from the Cross the struggle is over : 
there is death in every feature, in the face, pale and 
bloodless, in the limbs that hang motionless, in the whole 
body as it sinks into the arms of the faithful attendants. 
If Rubens had painted but these two pictures, he would 
deserve to be ranked as one of the world's great masters. 
I am content to look on these, and leave the rest to 
more enthusiastic worshippers. 

"With the tall spire of Antwerp fading in the distance, 
we skim the plains of Belgium, and are in Holland ! One 
disadvantage of these small States (to compensate for the 
positive good of independence, and of greater commer- 
cial freedom) is, that every time we cross a frontier we 
have to undergo a new inspection by the custom-house 
authorities. To be sure, it does not amount to much. 
The train is detained half an hour, the trunks are all 
taken into a large room, and placed on counters ; the 
passengers come along with the keys in their hands, and 
open them ; the officials give an inquiring look, some- 
times turn over one or two layers of clothing, and see 
that it is all right ; the trunks are locked up, the porter 
replaces them in the baggage-car, and the train starts on 



BELGIUM AND HOLLAND. 115 

again ! The only annoyance is the delay, and if we are 
not wearied by it, we may be amused at the farce. 

Within two days after we left Cologne, we crossed two 
frontiers, and had our baggage examined twice : first, 
in going into Belgium ; and, second, in coming into Hol- 
land ; we have heard three languages — nay, four — Ger- 
man on the Ehine ; French at Antwerp ; and the Flemish, 
which is a dialect unlike either ; and now we have this 
horrible Dutch (which is neither "fish, flesh, nor good 
red herring," but a succession of jaw-breaking gutturals, 
that seem not to be spoken with lips or tongue, but to 
be coughed up from some unfathomable depth in the 
Dutchman's breast) ; and we have had three kinds of 
money — marks and francs, and florins or guilders — sub- 
mitting to a shave every time we change from one into 
the other. Such are the petty vexations of travel. But 
never mind, let us take them good-naturedly, leaping 
over them gayly, as we do over this dike — and here we 
are in Holland ! 

Switzerland and Holland ! Was there ever a greater 
contrast than between the two countries? What a 
change for us in these three weeks, to be up in the 
clouds, and now down, actually below the level of the 
sea ; for Holland is properly, and in its normal state, 
under water, only the water is drained oif, and is kept 
off by constant watchfulness. The whole land has been 
obtained by robbery from the ocean, which is its right- 
ful possessor, and is kept out of his dominions by a 
system of earthworks, such as never were drawn round 
any fortification. Holland may be described in one 
word as an enormous Dutch platter, flat and even hol- 
low in the middle, and turned up at the edges. Stand- 
ing in the centre, you can see the rim in the long line 
of circumvallation which meets the eye as it sweeps 
round the horizon, This immense platitude is intersected 



116 BELGIUM AND HOLLAND. 

by innumerable canals that cross and recross it in every 
direction ; and as if to drive away the evil spirits from 
the country, enormous windmills, like huge birds, keep 
a constant flapping in the air. To relieve the dull 
monotony, these plains are covered with cattle, which, 
with their masses of black and white and red on the 
green pastures, give a pretty bit of color to the land- 
scape. The raising of cattle is one of the chief indus- 
tries of Holland. They are exported in great numbers 
from Rotterdam to London, so that the roast beef of 
old England is often Dutch beef, after aU. With her 
plains thus bedecked with countless herds, all sleek and 
well fed, the whole land has an aspect of comfort and 
abundance ; it looks to be, as it is, a land of peace and 
plenty, of fat cattle and fat men. And as it has not 
much to do in the way of making war, except on the 
other side of the globe, it has no need of a large stand- 
ing army ; and the military element is not so unpleas- 
antly conspicuous as in France and Germany. 

Rotterdam is a place of great commercial importance. 
It has a large trade with the Dutch possessions in the 
East Indies, and with other parts of the world. But as 
it has less of historical interest, we pass it by to spend 
a day at the Hague, which is the residence of the Court, 
and of course the seat of rank and fashion in the little 
kingdom. It is a pretty place, with open squares and 
parks, long avenues of stately trees, and many beautiful 
residences. A drive to Scheveningen, two or three 
miles distant on the sea-shore, gives one an opportunity 
to see the great resort of Dutch fashion. It was Long 
Branch over again. There were the same hotels, with 
long wide piazzas looking out upon the sea ; a smooth 
beach sloping down to the water, covered with bathing- 
houses, and a hundred merry groups scattered here and 
there ; young people engaged in mild flirtations, which 



BELGIUM AND HOLLAND. 117 

were quite harmless, since old dowagers sat looking on 
with watchful eyes. Altogether it was a scene that 
does one good to see it, as it shows that all life and 
happiness are not gone out of this weary world. 

As we returned to the Hague, we met the Queen, 
who was taking her evening drive— a lady with a kind 
motherly face, who is greatly esteemed, not only in Hol- 
land, but in England, for her intelligence and her many 
virtues. She is a woman of literary tastes, and is fond 
of literary society. That she is a friend of our country- 
man, IMr. Motley, who has done so much to make us 
familiar with the history of HoUand, I inferred from 
seeing his portrait the next day at her Palace in the 
Wood. It hung on the wall of one of the principal 
apartments alone, no other portrait being beside it, and 
few indeed anywhere, except of members of the royal 
family. 

This " Queen's Wood," where the summer palace 
stands, is a forest chiefly of beech-trees, through which 
long avenues open a retreat into the densest silence and 
shade. Driving out to it, as we came in from Scheven- 
ingen, we found an open space brilliantly lighted up, 
with the military band playing, and a crowd of people 
sitting in the open air, or under the trees, sipping their 
coffee or ices, and listening to the music. 

But it was not fashion that we were looking for, but 
historical places and associations. So the next morning 
we took a carriage and a guide and drove out to Delft, 
to see the spot where William the SUent, the great 
Prince of Orange, on whose life it seemed the fate of 
the Netherlands hung, was assassinated ; and the church 
where he was birried, and where, after three hundred 
years, his spirit stiU rules Holland from its urn. 

Returning to the city, we sought out — as more inter- 
esting than Royal Palaces or the Picture GaUery, though 



118 BELarOM AND HOLLAND. 

we did justice to both — the houses of the great com- 
moners, John and CorneHus De Witt, who, after lives of 
extraordinary devotion to the pubHc good, were torn to 
pieces by an infuriated populace ; and of Barneveld, 
who, after saving the country by his wisdom and virtue, 
was executed on some technical and frivolous charge. 
They point out the very spot where he died, and the win- 
dow fi'om which Maurice (the son of the gTeat WiUiam) 
looked on at this judicial murder — the only stain on his 
long possession of the chief executive power. 

Leaving the Hague with its tragic and its heroic 
memories, we take our last view of Holland in Amster- 
dam, Was there ever such a queer old place ? It is 
like the earth of old — " standing out of the water and in 
the water." It is intersected with canals, which are filled 
with boats, loading and unloading. The whole city is 
built on piles, which sometimes sink into the mud, caus- 
ing the superincumbent structures to incline forward 
like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. In fact, the houses 
appear to be drunk, and not to be able to stand on their 
pins. They lean towai'ds each other across the naiTow 
streets, till they almost touch, and indeed seem like old 
topers, that cannot stand up straight, but can only just 
hold on by the lamp-post, and are nodding to each other 
over the way. In some places a long Dutchman's pipe 
could be held out of a window, and be smoked by a 
man on the other side of the street ! 

But in spite of all that, in these old tumble-down 
houses, under these red-tiled roofs, there dwells a brave, 
honest, free people ; a people that are slaves to no mas- 
ter ; that fear God, and know no other fear ; and that 
have earned their right to a place in the world by hard 
blows on the field of battle, and on every field of human 
industry — on land and on sea — and that are to-day one 
of the freest and happiest peoples on the round earth. 



BELGIUM AND HOLLAND. 119 

If you would see the commerce of Amsterdam, a 
pleasant evening's ride will take you through, the old 
city, along the canals and over the bridges, down to the 
harbor, and for miles along the great embankment that 
keeps out the sea, where the ships are coming from, and 
going to, all parts of the earth. 

And for a transition, if you would see the quaintest 
and queerest little old place that ever was, ride out to 
Broek, that looks like a baby-house made of Dutch tiles. 
It is said to be the cleanest place in the world, in which 
respect it is like those Shaker houses, where every tin 
pan is scoured daily, and every floor is as white as 
broom and mop can make it. In returning we rode 
past miles of fertile meadows, all wrung from the sea, 
where cattle were cropping the rich grass on what was 
once the bottom of the deep, and saw on every hand the 
signs of Dutch thrift and abundance. 

And so we take our leave of Holland with a most 
friendly feeling. We are glad to have seen a country 
where there is so much liberty, so much independence, 
and such universal industry and comfort. To be sure, 
an American would find life here rather slow ; it would 
seem to him as if he were being drawn in a low and 
heavy boat with one horse throi^gh a stagnant canal ; 
but they don't feel so, and so they are happy. Blessings 
on their honest hearts ! Blessings on the stout old 
country, on the lusty burghers and buxom women, with 
faces round as the harvest moon T Now that we are 
going away, the whole land seems 'so relax into a broad 
smile ; the very cattle look happy, as they recline in the 
fat meadows and chew the cud of measureless content ; 
the storks seem sorry to have us go, and sail round on 
lazy wing, as if to give us a parting salutation ; and even 
the windmills begin to creak on their hinges, and vdth 
their long arms wave us a kind farewelL 



CHAPTER xrn. 

THE NEW GEEMAinr AND ITS CAPITAli. 

The greatest political event of the last ten years in 
Europe — ^perhapsf; he greatest since the battle of Water- 
loo — is the sudden rise and rapid development of the 
German Empire. When Napoleon was overthrown in 
1815, and the alhes marched to Paris, the sovereignty of 
Eui'ope, and the peace of the world, were supposed to 
be entrusted to the Five Great Powers, and of these five 
the least in importance was Prussia. Russia and Aus- 
tria were giants beside her ; England had furnished the 
conqueror of Waterloo, and the troops which bore the 
brunt of that terrible day, and the money that had car- 
ried on a twenty years' war against Napoleon ; and even 
France, exhausted as she was, di-ained of her best blood, 
yet, as she had stood so long against all Europe com- 
bined, might have considered herself still a match for 
any one of her enemies dbne, and certainly for the weak- 
est of them all, Prussia. Yet to-day this, which was the 
weakest of kingdoms, has grown to be the greatest power 
in Eiurope, since it has crushed Austria and crushed 
France, and is treated by Russia with infinite respect, 
while it would despise the interference of England in 
Continental affairs ! 

This acquisition of power, though recent in its mani- 
festation, has been of slow growth. The greatness of 
Prussia may be said to have been bom of its very humil- 
iation. It was in 1806, after its utter overthrow at the 
battle of Jena, when Napoleon marched to BerHn, levied 
enormous subsidies, and appropriated such portions of 
the kingdom as he pleased, that the rulers of Prussia 
saw that the reconstruction of their State must begin 



THE NEW GEKMANT AND ITS CAPITAL. 121 

from the very bottom, and went to work to educate the 
people and reorganize the army. The result of this 
severe discipline and long military training was seen 
when, sixty years after Jena, Prussia in a six weeks' 
campaign laid Austria at her feet, and was only kept 
from taking Vienna by the immediate conclusion of 
peace. Four years later came the French war, when 
King William avenged the insults to his royal mother 
by Napoleon the First — whose brutahty, it is said, broke 
the proud spirit of the beautiful Queen Louise, and sent 
her to an early gTave — in the terrible humiliation he 
administered to Napoleon the Third. 

But such triumphs were not wrought by military 
organization alone, but by other means for developing 
the life and vigor of the German race, especially by a 
system of universal education, which is the admiration 
of the world. The Germans conquered the French, not 
merely because they were better soldiers, but because 
they had some degree of education, and could act more 
efficiently because they acted intelligently. 

With her common schools and her perfect military 
organization, Prussia has combined great political sagac- 
ity, by which the fortunes of other States have been 
united with her own. Such stupendous achievements 
as were seen in the French war, were not wrought by 
Prussia alone, but by all Germany. It was in foresight 
and anticipation of such a contingency that Bismarck 
had long before entered into an alliance with the lesser 
German States, by which, in the event of war, they were 
all to act together ; and thus, when the Prussian army 
entered the field, it was supported by powerful allies 
from Saxony and Wurtemberg and Bavaria. 

And so when the war was over, out of the old Con- 
federation rose an Empire, and the King of Prussia was 
invited to take upon himself the more august title of 



122 THE NEW GERMANY AND ITS CAPITAL. 

Emperor of Germany — a title whicli recalls the line of 
the Csesars ; and thus has risen up, in the very heart 
of the Continent — hke an island thrown up by a volcano 
in the midst of the sea — a power which is to-day the 
most formidable in Europe. 

As Protestants, we cannot but feel a degree of satis- 
faction that this controlling power should be centred in 
a Protestant State, rather than in France or Austria ; 
although I should be sorry to think that our Protestant 
principles oblige us to approve every high-handed meas- 
ure undertaken against the Cathohcs. "We in America 
beheve in liberty in religious matters, and are scrupu- 
lous to give to others the freedom that we demand for 
ourselves. Of course the relations of things are some- 
what changed in a country where the Church is allied 
with the State, and the ministers of religion are sup- 
ported by the Government. Without entering into the 
question which so agitates Germany at the present 
moment, our sympathies, as Protestants and as Ameri- 
cans, must always be on the side of the fullest religious 
liberty. 

Berlin can never take rank among the most beautiful 
of European cities, for its situation is against it ; it Hes 
too low. It is strange that this spot should ever have 
been chosen for the site of a city. It has no advantages 
of position whatever, except that it is on the little river 
Spree. But having chosen this flat plain, they have 
made the most of it. It has been laid out in large 
spaces, with long, wide streets. At first, it must have 
been, like Washington, a city of magnificent distances ; 
but in the course of a hundred years these distances 
have been filled up with buildings, many of them of fine 
architecture, so that gradually the city has taken on a 
stately appearance. Since I was here in 1858, it has 
enlarged on every side ; new streets and squares have 



THE NEW GERMANY AND ITS CAPITAL. 123 

added to tlie size and the magnificence of the capital ; 
and the mihtary element is more conspicuous than ever ; 
"the man on horseback" is seen everywhere! Nor is 
this strange, for in that time the country has had two 
great wars, and the German armies, returning triumph- 
ant from hard campaigns, have filed in endless proces- 
sion, with banners torn with shot and shell, through the 
Unter den Linden, past the statue of the great Frederick, 
and out of the Brandenburg gate to the Thiergarten, 
where now a lofty column (like that in the Place Ven- 
dome at Paris), surmounted b}^ a flaming statue of Vic- 
tory, commemorates the triumph of the German arms. 

Of course we did our duty in seeing the King's Castle 
and the Museum. But I felt more interest in the great 
University, which has been the home of so many emi- 
nent scholars, and is the chief seat of learning on the 
Continent, than in seeing the Palace ; and in riding by 
the plain house in a quiet street, where Bismarck Hves, 
than in seeing all the mansions of the Royal Princes, 
with soldiers keeping guard before the gates. 

The most interesting place in the neighborhood of 
Berlin is Potsdam, with its historical associations, espe- 
cially its memories of Frederick the Great. An hour 
was given to the New Palace — that is, one that was new 
a hundi-ed years ago, but which at present is kept more 
for show than for use, though one wing is occupied by 
the Crown Prince. Externally it has no architectural 
beauty whatever, nothing to render it imposing but 
size ; but the interior shows many stately apartments. 
In one of these, called the Grotto, the walls are crusted 
with shells and all manner of stones, so that, entering 
here, one might feel that he had found a cave of the 
ocean, dripping with coolness, and, when lighted up, 
reflecting from its precious stones a thousand splen- 
dors. But palaces are all pretty much the same ; we 



124 THE NEW GERMANY AND ITS CAPITAL. 

wander througli endless apartments, rich with gilding 
and ornament, till we are weary of all this grandeur, 
and are glad when we light on some quiet nook, like the 
modest little palace — if palace it may be called — Char- 
lottenhof, where Alexander von Humboldt lived and 
wrote his works. There was more interest in seeing the 
desk on which he wrote his Kosmos, and the narrow bed 
on which the great man slept his four hours, than in all 
the state apartments of kings. 

But Frederick the Great was not merely a king ; he 
was an extraordinary personalit)-, which gives interest to 
the palace in which he lived. Walking a mile through 
a park of noble trees, we come to "Sans Souci," which is 
much smaller than the New Palace, but more home-Hke, 
as it was built by Frederick the Great for his own 
residence, and here he spent the last years of his life. 
Every room is connected with him. In this he gave 
audience to foreign ministers ; at this desk he wrote. 
This is the room occupied by Voltaire, whom Frederick, 
worshipping his genius, had invited to Potsdam, but who 
soon got tired of his royal patron (as perhaps his patron 
got tired of him), and ended the romantic friendship by 
running away. And here is the room in which the great 
king breathed his last. He died sitting in his chair, 
which still bears the stains of his blood, for his physi- 
cians had bled him. At that moment, they tell us, a 
little mantel clock, which Frederick always wound up 
with his own hand, stopped, and there it stands now, 
with its fingers pointing to the very hour and minute 
that he died ! That was nearly a century ago, and yet 
almost every day of every year since, strangers have 
entered that room, to see where this leader of armies 
met a greater Conqueror than he, and bowed his royal 
head to the inevitable Destroyer. 

But that was not the last king who died in this pal- 



THE NEW GERMANY AND ITS CAPITAL. 125 

ace. When we were here in 1868, the present Emperor 
was not on the throne, but his elder brother, whose pri- 
vate apartments we then saw ; and now we were shown' 
them again, with a final word added : " In this room the 
old king died ; in that very bed he breathed his last! " 
All remains as he left it ; his military cap, with his gloves 
folded beside it ; and here is a cast of his face taken 
after death. 

From the palace of the late king we drove to that of 
the present Emperor. Babelsberg is still more interest- 
ing than Sans Souci, as it is associated with hving per- 
sonages, who occupy the most exalted stations. It is the 
home of the Emperor himself when at Potsdam. Though 
not so large as the New Palace, it is designed, like Sans 
Souci, more for comfort than for grandeur. Built by 
King "William himself, according to his own taste, it 
has all the appointments of an elegant home. The site 
is beautiful. It stands on elevated ground (it seems a 
commanding eminence compared with the flat country 
round BerUn), and looks out on a prospect in which 
a noble park, and green slopes, descending to lovely 
bits of water, unite to form what may be called an 
English landscape, Hke that from Richmond on the 
Hill. The house is worthy of its surroundings. For- 
tunately we were there when the family were absent. 
The Empress was expected home in a day or two ; they 
were preparing the rooms for her return ; and the 
Emperor was to foUow the next week, when of course 
the house would be closed to visitors. But now we 
were not only admitted, but shown through the State 
apartments, and even the private rooms. Such an inspec- 
tion of the home of a royal family gives one some idea of 
their domestic life ; we see the interior of the household. 
The impression was charming. While there was little 
that was for show, everything was in good taste. The 



126 THE NEW GERMANY AND ITS CAPITAIi. 

attendant who sliowed us the rooms spoke in terms 
of admiration, and even affection, of the Emperor, as 
" a very kind man." One who is thus beloved by every 
member of his household cannot but have excellent 
traits of character. We were shown the drawing-room 
and the Hbrary, and the private study of the Emperor, 
the chair in which he sits, the desk at which he writes, 
and the table round which he gathers his ministers — 
Bismarck, Moltke, and Von Boon. We were getting 
pretty near to royalty when we were introduced into 
what a New Engiander housekeeper would caU the 
"living rooms," where he dined and where he slept. 
The ladies of oiu: party declared that the bed did not 
answer to their ideas of royal luxury, or even comfort, 
the sturdy old Emperor having only a single mattress 
under him, and that a pretty hard one ! Perhaps, how- 
ever, he despises luxury, and prefers to harden himself, 
like Napoleon, or the Emperor Nicholas, who slept on a 
camp bedstead. He is certainly very plain in his habits 
and simple in his tastes. Descending the staircase, the 
attendant took from a corner his cane and put it in 
oui' hand. It was a rough stick, such as any " swell " 
in New York would have despised, but the old man had 
cut it himself many years ago, and now always has it 
in his hand when he walks abroad. Through a rear 
window we look down into the poultry yard, where 
the Empress feeds her chickens with her own hand 
every morning ! It was good to hear this of the grand 
old lady. It showed a kind heart, and how, after all, for 
the greatest as well as the humblest of mankind, the 
simplest pleasures are the sweetest. I dare say she 
takes more pleasure in feeding her chickens than in 
presiding at the tedious court ceremonies. Such Httle 
touches give a pleasant impression of the simple home- 
life of the Royal House of Prussia. 



THE NEW QEKMANY AND ITS CAPITAL. 12? 

Frederick tlie Great is buried in the Garrison Church. 
There is nothing about his tomb imposing to the imag- 
ination, as in the tomb of Napoleon at Pans. It is only 
a little vault, which a woman opens with a key, and lights 
a tallow candle, and you lay your hand on the metallic 
coflfin of the great King. There he lies — the fiery spirit 
that made war for the love of war, that attacked A.ustria, 
and seized Silesia, as he confessed, " to make people talk 
about him," rather than because he had any right to 
that Austrian province ; who, though he wanted to be 
a soldier yet iji his first battle ran away as fast as his 
horse could carry him, and hid himself in a barn ; but 
who afterwards recovered control of himself, and became 
the greatest captain of his time. He it was who carried 
through the Seven Years' War, not only against Austria, 
but against Europe, and held Silesia against them all. 
"The Continent in arms," says Macaiday, "could not 
tear it from that iron grasp." But now the warrior is at 
rest ; that mariial figure no longer rides at the head of 
armies. In this bronze coffin lies all that remains of 
Frederick the Great : 

*' He sleeps his last sleep, he has fought his last battle ; 
No sound shall awake him to glory again." 

But the most beautiful of tombs is that of Queen 
Louise, the mother of the present Emperor, in the 
Mausoleum at Charlottenburg, where it stands at the 
end of a long avenue of trees — a small building devoted 
only to royal sepulture. There, in a subdued light, 
stretched upon her tomb, lies the beautiful Qneen. Her 
personal loveliness is a matter of tradition ; it is pre- 
served in innumerable portraits, which show that she 
was one of the most beautiful women of her time. That 
beauty is preserved in the reclining statue. The head 
rests on a marble pillow, and is turned a little to one 
side, so as to show the perfect symmetry of the Grecian 



128 THE NEW GEEMANX AND ITS CAPITAL. 

outlines. It is a sweet, sad face, (for she had sorrows 
that broke her queenly heart) ; but here she sleeps in 
calmness and in peace. The form is drooping, as if she 
slumbered on her bed ; she seems almost to breathe ; 
the marble lips are going to speak ! The expression is 
that of perfect repose, such as might have prompted the 
lines of SheUey in Queen Mab : 

How wonderful is Death I 

Death and his brother Sleep 1 
One, pale as yonder waning moon. 

With lips of lurid blue ; 

The other, rosy as the morn 
When, throned on ocean's wave. 

It blushes o'er the world : 
Yet both so passing wonderful 1 

By the side of the statue of the Queen is that of her 
husband — a noble figure in his mihtary cloak, with his 
hands folded on his breast. The King survived the 
Queen thirty years. She died in her youth, in 1810 ; he 
Hved tm 1840 ; but his heart was in her tomb, and now 
they sleep together. 

Nothing that I saw in Berlin left in me so deep a 
feehng as the silent form of that beautiful Queen, which 
is invested with touching interest by her beauty and 
her sorrow, and early death — a woman fitted to be the 
mother of a race of kings. May the young princes, 
growing up to royal destinies, as they gather round her 
tomb, cherish her memory and imitate her virtues ! 



CHAPTER XrV. 

AUSTRIA — OLD AND NEW. 

We are now taking sueli a wide sweep through 
Central Europe, going from country to country, that we 
pass many historic towns and cities in which a traveller 
might well linger. But, however hurried, one should not 
go from Berhn to Vienna without spending a day or two 
in Dresden, the capital of Saxony, that attracts a great 
number of English and American residents by its beauty 
and by its excellent opportunities for education ; while 
in its treasures of art it is richer than any other city in 
Germany. Here a family that we had known on the 
other side of the Atlantic gave us a cordial welcome, 
under whose roof we felt how sweet is the atmosphere 
of an American home. And when we departed, they 
accompanied us, in Oriental fashion, into the Saxon 
Switzerland, to the Bastei, a huge cliff, which from the 
very top of a mountain overhangs the Elbe, that winds 
its silver current through the valley below, while on the 
other side of the river the fortress-crowned rock of 
Konigstein lifts up its head, to keep ward and watch 
over the beautiful kingdom of Saxony. 

In contrast with this is dear old Prague, rusty and 
musty, that in some quarters has such a tumble-down 
air that it seems as if it were to be given up to Jews, 
who were going to convert it into a huge Rag Fair for 
the sale of old clothes ; and yet in other quarters are 
new streets and new squares, as if it had caught a little 
of the spirit of the modern time. But the interest of 
Prague to a stranger is chiefly historical — for what it 
has been rather than for what it is. Its old churches 
and towers and castles are fuU of stirring memories. As 



130 AUSTRIA OLD AND NEW. 

we ride across the bridge, from which St. John of Nepo- 
muc was thrown into the river, five hundred years ago, 
because he would not betray to a wicked king the secret 
which the queen had confided to him in the confessional, 
up to the Cathedral, where a gorgeous shrine of silver 
keeps his dust, the lines of Longfellow make music in 
our ears : 

I have read in some old marvellous tale. 

Some legend strange and vague. 
That a midnight host of spectres pale 

Beleaguered the walls of Prague. 

Beside the Moldau's rushing stream. 

With the wan moon overhead. 
There stood, as in an awful dream, 

The army of the dead. 

Standing on this old bridge, one could almost hear, 
above the rushing Moldau, the drums of Zisca calKng 
the Hussites to arms on the neighboring heights, a battle 
sound answered in a later century by the cannon of 
Frederick the Great. Above us is the vast pile of the 
Hradschin, the abode of departed royalties, where but a 
few weeks ago poor old Ferdinand, the ex-Emperor of 
Austria, breathed his last. He was almost an imbecile, 
who sat for many years on the throne as a mere figure- 
head of the State, and was perfectly harmless, since he 
had little more to do with the Government than if he 
had been a log of wood, but who, when the great events 
of 1848 threatened the overthrow of the Empire, was 
hui'ried out of the way to make room for younger blood, 
and his nephew, Francis Joseph, came to the throne. 
Ferdinand lived to be eighty-two years old, yet so insig- 
nificant was he that almost the only thing he ever said 
that people remember, was a remark that at one time 
made the laugh of Vienna. Once in a country place he 
tasted of some dumplings, a wretched compound of gar- 
lic and all sorts of vile stuff, but which pleased the royal 



AUSTRIA — OLD AND NEW. 131 

taste, and which on his retiu'n to Vienna he ordered 
for his table, greatly to the disgust of his attendants, 
to whom he replied, " I am Kaiser, and I will have my 
dumplings ! " Poor old man ! I hope he had his 
dumplings to the last. He was a weak, simple crea- 
ture ; but he is gone, and has been buried with royal 
honors, and sleeps with the Imperial house of Austria 
in the crypt of the Church of the Capuchins in Vienna. 

But all these memories of Prague, personal or his- 
torical, recent or remote, sink behind us as we come to 
Vienna, one of the most interesting cities of Europe. It 
is a far more picturesque city than Berlin, and many 
times older. It was a great city in the Middle Ages, 
when Berlin had no existence. The Cathedral of St. 
Stephen was erected hundreds of years before the Elec- 
tor of Brandenburg chose the site of a town on the 
Spree, or Peter the Great began to build St. Petersburg 
on tlic banks of the Neva. Vienna has played a great 
part in European history. For a long time it was the 
fortress of Christendom against Moslem invasion. Two 
hundred years ago it was besieged by the Tiu'ks, and 
nothing but its heroic resistance, aided by the Poles, 
under John Sobieski, prevented the irruption of Asiatic 
barbarians into Central Europe. From the tower of 
St. Stephen's anxious watchers have often marked the 
tide of battle, as it ebbed and flowed round the ancient 
capital, from the time when the plain of the Marchfeld 
was covered with the tents of the Moslems, to that 
when the armies of Napoleon, matched against those of 
Austria, fought the terril)le battles of Aspem, Essling, 
and Wagram. 

But if Vienna is an old city, it is also a new one. In 
revisiting Germany, I am constantly struck with the 
contrast between what I see now, and what I saw in 
1858. Then Vienna was a pleasant, old-fashioned town, 



132 AUSTRIA OLD AND NEW. 

not too large for comfort, strongly fortified, like most of 
tlie cities of the Middle Ages, with high walls and a deep 
moat encompassing it on all sides. Now all has disap- 
peared — the moat has been fiUed up, and the walls have 
been razed to the ground, and where they stood is the 
Eing-strasse, a circle of Boulevards like those of Paris. 
The city thus let loose has burst out on all sides, and 
great avenues and squares, and parks and gardens, have 
sprung into existence on every hand. The result is a 
rejuvenation of the old Vienna into a modern city of 
vast proportions and magnificence. 

Nor are the changes less in the country than in the 
capital. There have been wars and revolutions, which 
have shaken the Empire so that its very existence was in 
danger, but out of them all it has come stronger than 
ever. Austria is the most remarkable example in Europe 
of the good effects of a thorough beating ! Twice since 
my former visit has she been cast dovjn before her foes, 
and suffered a terrible humiliation — in 1 859 and in 1866 
— at Solferino and at Sadowa. 

In 1858 Austria was slowly recovering from the terri- 
ble shock of ten years before — the Revolutionary Tear 
of 1848. In '49 was the war in Hungary, when Kossuth 
with his fiery eloquence roused the Magyars to arms, 
and they fought with such vigor and success that they 
threatened to march on Vienna, and the independence 
of Hungary might have been secured but for the inter- 
vention of Russia. Gorgei surrendered to a Russian 
army. Then came a series of bloody executions. The 
Hungarian leaders who feU into the hands of the Aus- 
trians, found no pity. The illustrious Count Louis 
Batthyani was sent to the scaffold. Kossuth escaped 
only by fleeing into Turkey. Gen. Bem turned Mus- 
sulman, saying that "his only religion was love of liberty 
and hatred of tjiranny," and seized as a Pacha at the 



AUSTRIA OLD AND NEW. 133 

head of a Turkish army. It is a curious illustration of 
the change that a few years have wrought, that Count 
Andrassy, who was concerned with Batthyani in the 
same rebellion, and was also sentenced to death, but 
escaped, is now the Prime Minister of Austria ! But 
then vengeance ruled the hour. The bravest Hungarian 
generals were shot — chiefly, it was said at the time, by 
the imperious will of the Archduchess Sophia, the mother 
of Francis Joseph. There is no hatred like a woman's, 
and she could not forego the savage delight of revenge 
on those who had dared to attack the power of Austria. 
Proud daughter of the Caesars ! she was yet to taste the 
bitterness of a like cruelty, when her own son, Maximil- 
ian, bared his breast to a file of Mexican soldiers, and 
found no mercy. These are the stern retributions of 
history, which come upon one who visits the burial-place 
of the Imperial family, and stands at one moment near 
the cofiB.n of that haughty and unforgiving woman, and 
at the next by the coffin of her son, whose poor body 
lies there pierced with a dozen balls ! 

But for the time Austria was victorious, and in the 
flush of the reaction which was felt throughout Europe, 
began to revive the old Imperial absolutism, the stern 
repression of liberty of speech and of the press, the sys- 
tem of passports and of spies, of jealous watchfulness by 
the police, and of full submission to the Church of Eome. 

Such was the state of things in 1858 ; and such it 
might have remained if the possessors of power had not 
been rudely awakened from their dreams. How well 
do I remember the proud sense of triumph of that 
year ! The empii'e of Austria had been fully restored, 
including not only its present territory, but the fairest 
portion of Italy — Lombardy and Venice. To complete 
the joy of the Imperial house, an heir had just been born 
to the throne. I was present in the cathedral of Milan 



134 ATJSTKIA — OLD AND KEW. 

when a solemn Te Deum was performed in thanksgiving 
for tliat crowning gift. . Maximilian was then Viceroy in 
Lombardy. I see him now as, with his young bride 
Carlotta, he walked slowly up that majestic aisle, sur- 
rounded by a brilhant staff of officers, to give thants to 
Almighty God for an event which seemed to promise the 
continuance of the royal house of Austria, and of its 
Imperial power to future generations. Alas for human 
foresight ! In less than one ' year the armies of France 
had crossed the Alps, a^ great battle had been fought at 
Solferino, and Lombardy was forever lost to Austria, 
and a Te Deum was performed in the cathedral of Milan 
for a very different occasion, but with still more enthu- 
siastic rejoicing. 

But that was not the end of bitterness. Austria 
was not yet sufficiently humbled. She still clung to her 
old arbitrary system, and was to be thoroughly con- 
verted only by another administration of discipline. 
She had stiU another lesson to learn, and that was to 
come from another source, a power still nearer home. 
Though driven out of a part of Italy, Austria was still 
the great power in Germany. She was the most impor- 
tant member of the Germanic Confederation, as she had 
a vote in the Diet at Frankfort proportioned to her 
population, although two-thirds of her people were not 
Germans. The Hungarians and the Bohemians are of 
other races, and speak other lang-uages. But by the 
dexterous use of this power, with the alliance of Bavaria 
and other smaller States, Austria was able to control the 
pohcy and wield the influence of Germany. Prussia 
was outvoted, and her political influence reduced to 
nothing — a state of things which became the more 
unendurable the more she grew in strength, and became 
conscious of her power. At length her statesmen saw 
that the only hope of Prussia to gain her rightful place 



ATJSTEIA — OLD AND NEW. 135 

and power in the councils of Europe, was to drive Aus- 
tria out of Germany — to compel her to withdraw entirely 
from the Confederation ! It was a bold design. Of 
course it meant war ; but for this Prussia had been long 
preparing. Suddenly, like a thunderbolt from a clear 
sky, came the war of 1866. Scarcely was it announced 
before a mighty army marched into Bohemia, and the 
battle of Sadowa, the greatest in Europe since Waterloo, 
ended the campaign. In six weeks all was over. The 
proud house of Austria was humbled in the dust. Her 
army, that was to capture Berlin, was crushed in one 
terrible day, and the Prussians were on the march for 
Vienna, when theii' further advance was stopped by the 
conclusion of peace. 

This was a fearful overthrow for Austria. But good 
comes out of evil. It was the day of deliverance for 
Hungary and for Italy, Man's extremity is God's oppor- 
tunity, and the king's extremity is liberty's opportunity. 
Up to this hour Francis Joseph had obstinately refused 
to grant to Hungary that separate government to which 
she had a right by the ancient constitution of the king- 
dom, but which she had till then vainly demanded. But 
at length the eyes of the young emperor were opened, 
and on the evening of the day which saw the annihila- 
tion of his military power, it is said, he sent for Deak, 
the leader of the Hungarians, and asked, " If he should 
then concede aU that they had asked, would they rally 
to his support so as to save him ? " " Sire," said the 
stern Hungarian leader, "it is too late ! " Nothing 
remained for the proud Hapsburg but to throw himseK 
on the mercy of the conqueror, and obtain such terms 
as he could. In his despair he turned to his old enemy, 
to whom he had yielded Lombardy seven years before, 
and threw at his feet Venice also, which Napoleon 



136 AUSTBIA — OLD AND NEW. 

immediately turned over to Victor Emmanuel, thus 
completing the unity of Italy. 

The results in G-ermany were not less important. As 
the fruit of this shoi-t but decisive campaign, Austria, 
besides paying a large indemnity for the expenses of the 
vpar, withdrew wholly from the German Confederation, 
leaving Prussia master of the field, which proceeded at 
once to form a new Confederation, of which she was to 
be the head. 

After such repeated overthrows and humihations, one 
would suppose that Austria was utterly ruined, and that 
the proud young emperor would die of shame. But 
sweet are the uses of adversity. HumUiation is some- 
times good for nations as for individuals, and never 
was it more so than now. The impartial historian will 
record that these defeats were Austria's salvation. The 
loss of Italy, however mortifying to her pride, was only 
taMng away a source of constant trouble and discontent, 
and leaving to the rest of the empire a more perfect 
unity than it had before. 

And the independence of Hungarj'', while an appar- 
ent loss, was a real gain. The Magyars at last obtained 
what they had so long been seeking — a separate admin- 
istration, and Francis Joseph, Emperor of Austria, was 
crowned at Pesth as King of Hungary. By this act of 
wise conciliation five millions of the bravest people in 
Europe were converted from disaffected, if not disloyal, 
subjects, into contented and warmly attached supporters 
of the House of Austria, the most devoted as they are 
the most warlike defenders of the throne and the Empire. 

Another result of the war was the emancipation of 
the Emperor himself from the Pope. Till then Austria 
had been one of the most extreme Catholic powers in 
Europe. Not Spain itself was a more servile adherent 
of Home. The Concordat gave all ecclesiastical appoint- 



AUSTRIA — OLD AND NEW. 187 

ments to the Pope. But the thunder of the guns of 
Sadowa destroyed many illusions — among them that of 
a ghostly power at Rome, which had to be conciliated 
as the price of temporal prosperity as weU as of eternal 
salvation. This illusion is now gone ; the Concordat 
has been repealed, and Austria has a voice in the appoint- 
ment of her own bishops. The late Prime Minister. 
Count Beust, was a Protestant. In her treatment of 
different religious faiths, Austria is so liberal as to give 
great sorrow to the Holy Father, who regards it as hav- 
ing almost apostatized from the faith. 

The same liberality exists in other things. There is 
none of the petty tyranny which in former days vexed 
the souls of foreigners by its strict surveillance. No 
man in a cocked hat demands the passport of the 
stranger as he enters the city, nor asks how long he 
intends to stay ; no agent of the poHce hangs about his 
table at a public cafe to overhear the private conversa- 
tion, and learn if he is a political emissary, a conspirator 
in disguise ; no officer in the street taps him on his 
shoulder to warn him not to speak so loud, or to be 
more careful of what he says. An American is as free 
to come and go as in his own country. All this is the 
blessed fruit of Austria's being humbled to the dust. 

It should be said to the praise of the Emperor, that 
he has taken his discipline exceedingly well. He has 
not pouted or sulked, like an angry schoolboy, or refused 
to have anything to do with the powers which have 
inflicted upon him such grievous humiliations. He has 
the good sense to recognize the political necessities of 
States as superior to the feehngs of individuals. Kings, 
like other men, must bow to the inevitable. He makes 
the best of the case. He did not refuse to meet Napo- 
leon after the battle of Solferino, but held an interview 
of some hours at ViUafranca, in which, without long 



138 AUSTEIA — OLD AND NEW. 

preliminaries, they agreed on an immediate peace. He 
visited his brother Emperor in Paris at the time of the 
Great Exposition in 1867. Within the last year he has 
paid a visit to Victor Emmanuel at Venice, and been 
received with the utmost enthusiasm by the Italian peo- 
ple. They can afford to welcome him now that he is no 
longer their master. Since they have not to see in him 
a despotic ruler, they hail him as the nation's guest, and 
as he sails up the Grand Canal, receive him with loud 
cheers and waving of banners. More than once he has 
received the visits of the Emperor William, who came 
to Vienna at the time of the Exposition, and has since 
met him at a watering-place, at which the two sover- 
eigns fell into each other's arms, and testified their 
mutual affection by repeated embracings. Such per- 
sonal relations have a great deal to do with the peace 
of empires. 

In another respect, the discipline of adversity has 
been most useful to Austria. By hard blows it has 
knocked the mihtary spirit out of her, and led her to 
" turn her thoughts on peace." Of course the military 
element is still very strong. Vienna is full of soldiers. 
Every morning we hear the drum beat under our win- 
dows, and files of soldiers go marching through the 
streets. Huge barracks are in every part of the city, 
and a general parade would show a force of many 
thousands of men. The standing army of Austria is one 
of the largest in Europe. But in spite of all this show, 
the military spirit is much less rampant than before. 
Nobody wants to go to war with any of the Great 
Powers. They have had enough of war for the present. 

Austria has learned that there is another kind of 
greatness for nations than that gained in fighting bat- 
tles, in cultivating the arts of peace. If there have been 
no victories abroad within these later years, there have 



AUSTRIA — OLD AND NEW. 139 

been great victories at home. There haB been an enor- 
mous development of the internal resources of the coun- 
try. Railroads have been extended all over the Empire, 
and commerce has been quickened to a new hfe. Great 
steamers passing up and down the Danube, exchange 
the products of the East and West, of Europe and Asia. 
Enterprises of all kinds have been encouraged. The 
result was shown in the late Exposition, when there was 
collected in Vienna such a display of the products of 
all lands, as the world had never seen. Those who had 
been at the Great Exhibitions of London and Paris said 
that it far surpassed both. All the deUcate and costly 
fabrics of the East, with the more solid productions of 
the West, which have done so much to create modem 
civilization, were spread before the dazzled eye. Such 
a Victory of Peace could not have been achieved without 
the previous lesson of Defeat in War. 

Still further learning wisdom irom her conquerors, 
Austria has entered upon a general system of education, 
modelled upon that of Prussia, which in the course of 
another generation will transform the heterogeneous 
population spread over the vast provinces which make 
up the thirty-four millions of the Austrian Empire. 

Thus in many ways Austria has abandoned her tradi- 
tional conservative policy, and entered on the road of 
progress. She may now be fairly reckoned among the 
liberal nations of Europe. The Roman Catholic religion 
is still the religion of the State, but the Pope has lost 
the control which he had a few years ago ; Vienna is 
more independent of Rome, and Protestants have as 
much liberty of opinion and of worship as in Republi- 
can France. 

Of course there is still much in the order of things 
which is not according to our American ideas. Austria 
is an ancient monarchy, and all civil and even social rela- 



140 AUSTBIA OLD AND NEW. 

tions are framed on tlie monarchical system. Everything 
revolves round the Emperor, as the centre of the whole. 
We visit palace after palace, and are told that all are for 
the Emperor. Even his stables are one of the sights of 
Vienna, where the hundreds of blooded horses ai-e for 
the use of the Imperial household. There are carriages, 
too many to be counted, covered with gold, for four, sis, 
or eight horses. One of these is two hundred years old, 
with panels decorated with paintings by Rubens. It 
seems, indeed, as if in those old monarchies the sover- 
eign applied to himself, with an arrogance approaching 
blasphemy, the universal possession which belongs to 
God alone — that " of him, and through him, and to him, 
are all things ! " 

Personally we can well believe that the Emperor is a 
very amiable as well as intelligent man, and that he 
seeks the good of his people. He has been trained in 
the school of adversity, and has learned that empires 
may not last forever and that dynasties may be over- 
thrown. History is full of warnings against royal pride 
and ambition. In the crypt of the Church of the Capu- 
chins is the coffin of Marie Louise, who was married to 
the great Napoleon ; and in the Royal Treasury is the 
cradle, wrought in the rarest woods, inlaid with pearl 
and gold, and lined with silt, that was made for the little 
King of Rome ! "What dreams of honor and glory 
hovered about that cradle ! Alas for the end ! In the 
Palace at Schonbrunn we were shown the room which 
Napoleon occupied when he besieged "Vienna, and the 
very bed in which he slept, and in that same bed the 
young Napoleon afterwards breathed his last ! So per- 
ished the dream of ambition. The heir of the great 
Napoleon, for whom he had divorced Josephine and 
manied Marie Louise ; who was to perpetuate the 
proud Imperial line ; died far from France, while his 



AUSTBIA — OLD AND NEW. 141 

father had abready ended his days on the rock of St. 
Helena. 

But no like sense of just retribution attaints the 
present house of Austria, for whose royal head, Emperor 
and Empress, no one can fail to have a kindly feeling, 
as he hears of their virtues and their charities. 

Nor can one help hking the Viennese and the 
Austrians. They are very courteous and rery pohte — ■ 
rather more so, if the truth must be told, than their 
German neighbors. Perhaps great prosperity has been 
bad for the Prussians, as adversity has been good for the 
Austrians. At any rate the former have the reputation 
in Europe of being somewhat brusque in their manners. 
Perhaps they also need a lesson in humiUation, which 
may come in due time. But the Austrians are proverb- 
ially a polite people. They are more like the French, 
gay and fond of pleasure, but with the instinctive court- 
esy, which gives such a charm to social intercourse. 

And so we go away from Vienna with a kindly feeling 
for the dear old city — only hoping it may not be spoiled 
by too many improvements — and with best wishes for 
Kaiser and people. They have had a hard time, but it 
has done them good. By such harsh discipline has the 
life of this old empire been renewed. Aroused from its 
lethargy, it has shaken off the past, and entered on a 
new course, until it is to-day one of the most prosperous 
countries on the continent. There is fresh blood at her 
heart, and fresh life coursing through her stalwart limbs. 
'Ind though no man or kingdom can be said to be master 
of the future, it has as fair a chance of long existence as 
any other of the great powers. The form of govern- 
ment may be changed ; there may be internal revolu- 
tions ; Bohemia may obtain a separate government like 
Hungary ; but whatever may come, there will always be 



142 AUSTRIA — OLD AND NEW. 

a great and powerful State in Eastern Europe, on the 
waters of the Danube. 

As one of the great powers of the continent, Austria 
is perhaps the best representative of the combination 
of the old and the new — the old life of the Middle Ages 
with the new life of modern civilization — a blending 
of vital forces that is well symbolized in the ancient 
Cathedral ; that is venerable with the moss of centuries 
upon it ; but which, amid aU changes, has not lost its 
place as the centre of the capital, to which the ever- 
enlarging city cHngs, as if the people would come and 
worship at its feet, and which still opens its doors to 
advancing generations! Noble relic of the past and 
promise of the future ! May it stand the storms of a 
thousand years to come I 



CHAPTEE XV. 

OUT-DOOE LIFE OF THE GEEMAN PEOPLE. 

No description of Germany — no picture of German 
life and manners — can be complete which, does not give 
some account of the out-door recreations of the people ; 
for this is a large part of their existence ; it is a feature 
of their national character, and an important element in 
their national life. To know them well, one must see 
them, not only in business, but in their lighter hours 
One may travel through Germany from the Baltic to 
the Adriatic, and see all the palaces and museums and 
picture galleries, and yet be wholly ignorant of the 
people. But if he has the good fortune to know a 
single German family of the better class, into which he 
may be received, not as a stranger, but as a guest and 
a friend — where he can see the interior of a German 
home, and mark the strong affection of parents and 
children, of brothers and sisters — he will get a better 
idea of the genuine nature of the people, than by months 
of living in hotels. Next to the home, the public garden 
is the place where the German appears with the least 
of formality and disguise. 

Since I came to Europe, I have been in no mood to 
seek amusement. If I had followed my own impulse, it 
would have been to go only to the most retired places, 
where I could find absolute seclusion and repose. 

But I had not only myself to consider, but a young 
life beside me. In addition to that, we have now a third 
member of our party. At Hamburg we were joined by 
my nephew, a lieutenant in the Navy, who is attached to 
the flag-ship Franklin, now cruising in the Baltic, and 
obtained leave of absence for a month to be with his 



144 OTJT-DOOR LIFE OF THE GERMAN PEOPLE. 

sister, and is travelling with us in Germany. He is a 
fine young officer, full of life, and enters into everything 
with the greatest zest. Beguiled by these two young 
spirits, I have been led to see more than I otherwise 
should of the open-air life and recreations of these 
simple-heaiied Germans, which I will briefly describe, 
as the basis of one or two reflections. 

I will begin with Hamburg. This is one of the most 
beautiful cities in Germany. One part is indeed old and 
dingy, in which the narrow streets are overhung with 
houses of a former century, now gone to decay. But as 
we go back from the river, we mount higher, and come 
into an entirely different town, with wide streets, lined 
with large and imposing buildings. This part of the city 
was swept by a great fire a few years ago, and has been 
very handsomely rebuilt. But the peculiar beauty of 
Hamburg is formed by a small stream, the Alster, which 
runs through the city, and empties into the Elbe, and is 
dammed up so as to form what is called hj courtesy a 
lake, and what is certainly a very pretty sheet of water. 
Around this are grouped the largest hotels, and some of 
the finest buildings of the city, and this is the centre of 
its joyous life, especially at the close of the day, when 
all Hamburg flocks to the "Alsterdam." As our hotel 
overlooked it, every evening showed us a very animated 
scene before our windows. The water was covered with 
boats, among which the swans glided about without fear. 
The quays were lighted up brilliantly, and the cafes 
swarmed with people, enjoying the cool evening air. 

The recreation was of the most simple and innocent 
kind. Families were all together, father and mother, 
brothers and sisters, while little children ran about at 
play. I have rarely looked on a prettier scene, and 
although I had no part nor lot in it, and walked among 



OTJT-DOOR LIFE OF THE GEBMA:* PEOPLE. 145 

the crowds alone, it did my heart good to see that there 
was so much happiness in this sad and weary world. 

From Hambui-g we came to BerUn, where the same 
features were reproduced on a larger scale. As we 
drove through the streets at ten o'clock at night we 
passed a pubhc garden, which is one of the most fash- 
ionable resorts of the capital ; and the next evening we 
spent an hour there. It was a vast enclostu'e lighted up 
with hundreds of gas-jets, and thronged with thousands 
of people, with three bands of music to relieve each 
other. There were hundreds of Uttle tables, each with its 
group around it, all chatting with the utmost animation. 

The next day, on our return from Charlottenburg, we 
stopped to take our dinner at the Flora — an enclosiire of 
several acres, laid out Uke a botanical garden. A large 
conservatory, called the Palm Garden, keeps under cover 
such rare plants and trees as would not grow in the 
cold climate, and presents a tropical scene. Banks of 
flowers and of rare plants are in full bloom all the 
winter long ; and here come the rank and fashion of 
Berhn, and, with the air filled with the perfume of 
flowers, forget the scene without — the naked trees and 
bitter winds and drifting snows — while listening to 
musical concerts given in an immense hall, capable of 
holding several thousand people. These are the festivi- 
ties of winter. But now, as it is midsummer, the people 
are out of doors ; and here, seated among the rest, we 
take our dinner, entertained (as sovereigns are wont to 
entertain their royal guests at State dinners) with a band 
of music in the intervals of the feast, which gives a 
touch of Oriental luxury to our very simple repast. 

At Dresden our hotel, the BeUevue, was close to the 
Elbe, and a public garden on the bank of the river was 
right under our windows. Every evening we sat on the 



146 OUT-DOOK LIFE OF THE GERMAN PEOPLE. 

terrace of tlie hotel, and heard the music, and watched 
the pleasui'e boats darting np and down the river. 

But of all the cities of Germany, Vienna is the one 
where this out-door life is carried to the greatest perfec- 
tion. "When we arrived the weather was very hot. For 
the first time this summer we were really oppressed by 
the heat, for which the only relief and restoration was 
an evening- ride. As the sun was setting we took a car- 
riage and made the circuit of the Ring-strasse, the 
boulevards laid out on the site of the old walls, ending 
with the Prater, that immense park, where two years 
ago the Great Exposition was held, and where the build- 
ings stiU stand. This is the place of concoiu'se of the 
Viennese on gala days, when the Emperor turns out, 
and all the Austrian and Hungarian nobihty, with their 
splendid equipages (the Hungarians have an Oriental 
fondness for gilded trappings), making a sight which in 
the gay season is said to be more dazzling than that in 
the Hyde Park of London, or the Bois de Boulogne at 
Palis. Just now all this fashionable element has fled 
the city, and is enjoying life at the German watering- 
places. But as there are stiU left, seven or eight hun- 
dred thousand people, they must find some way to bear 
the heat of summer ; and so they flock to the Prater. 
The trees are all ablaze with Hght ; half a dozen bands 
of music are in fuU blast, and " all the world is gay." 
It is "a midsummer night's dream." There was a 
concert garden where a large band was composed 
of women. To be sure, there were half a dozen men 
sprinkled among the perfoi-mers, but they seemed to 
have subordinate paiis — only blowing away at the 
wind instruments — while the stringed instiniments were 
touched by dehcate fingers. They held the violins most 
deftly, and wi'ung sweet music from the strings. Two 
or three young maidens stood beside the bass-viols, 



OUT-DOOK LIFE OF THE GERMAN PEOPLE. 147 

which were taller than themselves, and a trim figure, 
that might have been that of a French vivandiere, heed, 
the drum. The conductor was of course a woman, and- 
marshalled her forces with wonderful spirit. Of the 
excellence of the music I am not competent to judge, 
but I applauded vigorously, because I liked the inde- 
pendence of the thing, and have an admiration, if not 
sympathy, for the spirit of those heroic reformers, who 
wish to " put down these men ! " 

But the chief musical glory of Vienna is the Volks- 
garten, where Strauss's famous band j^lays, and here we 
spent our last night in Vienna. It is an enclosure near 
the Palace, and the grounds belong to the Emperor, 
who gives the use of them (so we were told) to the son 
of his old nurse, who devotes them to the purpose of 
a public garden, and to musical concerts. Besides 
Strauss's band, there was a military band, which played 
alternately. As we entered it was executing an air which 
my companions recognized as from "William Tell," 
and they pointed out to me the strains that imitated 
the Alpine horns. Then Strauss came to the front 
— not Johann (who has become so famous that the 
Emperor has appropriated him to himself, so that he can 
now play only for the royal family and their guests), but 
his brother Edward. He is a little man, whose body 
seems to be set on springs, and to be put in motion by 
music. While leading the orchestra, of some forty per- 
formers, he was as one inspired — he fairly danced with 
excitement ; it seemed as if he hardly touched the earth, 
but floated in air, his body swaying hither and thither to 
the sound of music. When he had finished, the military 
band responded, and so it continued the whole evening. 

The garden was illuminated not only with gas lamps, 
but vTith other lights not set down in the programme. 
The day had been terribly hot, and as we drove to the 



148 OUT-DOOR LIFE OF THE GERMAN PEOPLE. 

garden, dark masses of clouds were gathering, and soon 
tlie rain began to come down in earnest. The people 
who were sitting under the trees took refuge in the 
shelter of the large haU ; and there, while incessant 
flashes of lightning lighted up the garden without, the 
martial airs of the military band were answered by the 
roll of the thunder. This was an unexpected accompa- 
niment to the music, but it was very grateful, as it at 
once cleared and cooled the air, and gave promise of a 
pleasant day for travelling on the morrow. 

Scenes like this, though less brilliant, may be seen 
in every German city, but these are enough to give a 
picture of the open-air life and recreations of the people. 

And now for the moral of the tale. "What is the 
influence of this out-door life — is it good or bad? 
What lesson does it teach to us Americans ? Does it 
furnish an example to imitate, or a warning to avoid? 

Certainly it is a good thing that it leads the people to 
spend some hours of every day in the open air. During 
hours of business they are in their offices or their shops, 
and they need a change ; and anything which tempts 
them out of doors is a physical benefit ; it quiets their 
nerves, and cools their blood, and prepares them for 
refreshing sleep. So far it is good. Every open space 
in the midst of a great population is so much breathing 
space ; the parks of a city are rightly called its lungs ; 
and it is a good thing if once a day all classes, rich and 
poor, young and old, can get a long draught of fresh, 
pure air, as if they were in the country. 

Next to the pleasure of sitting in the open air, the 
attraction of these places is the music. The Germans 
are a music-loving people. Luther was an enthusiast 
for music, and called any man a fool whose blood was 
not stirred by martial airs or softer melodies. In this 
he is a good type of the German people. This taste is 



OUT- DOOR LITE OF THE GERMAN PEOPLE. 149 

at once cultivated and gratified by what they bear at 
these public resorts. Almost every air that was played 
was from the work of some great master, all of whom 
are familiar in Germany from Mozart to Mendelssohn, 
The constant repetition of such music by trained bands 
is an education of the people. 

And this delightful recreation is furnished very 
cheaply. In New York, opera-goers pay three or foiu' 
dollars to hear Nilsson or Patti, But here admission to 
the Volksgarten, the most fashionable resort in Vienna, is 
but a iiorin (about fifty cents) ; to the Flora, in Berlin, 
it was but a mark, or a quarter of a dollar ; while many 
of the public gardens are free, the only compensation 
being what is paid for refreshments. 

Another feature of this open-air life is its domestic 
character. It is not a solitary, selfish pleasure, as when 
men go off by themselves to drink or gamble, or indulge 
in any kind of dissipation. On the contrary, when men 
go to these public gardens, they take their wives and 
their sisters with them. Often we see a whole family, 
including the children, grouped round one of these 
tables, as if they were round their own tea table at 
home. The family life is not broken by this taking of 
their pleasure in public, but rather strengthened ; the 
ties are made the closer by sharing their enjoyments 
together. 

And these pleasures are not only domestic, but 
democratic. They are for all classes. Even the poor 
can afford the few pence necessary for such an evening, 
and find in listening to music in the open air the 
cheapest, as well as the simplest and purest enjoyment. 

The drawbacks to these public gardens are two — the 
smoking and the beer-drinking. There are hundreds of 
tables, each with a group around it, all drinking beer, 
and the men all smoking. These features are not to my 



It'O OUT-DOOR LITE OF THK GERMAN PEOPLE. 

taste. I never smoked a cigai* in my life, but I do not 
feel that I am called iipon to reprove Mr. Spiirgeon, or 
my dear fidend Howai-d Crosby, ^^'ben be tells me tbat 
after a bard day's work in the pulpit or out of tbe pulpit 
it qiiiets bis nerves and gives bim a sound nigbt's sleep. 

As for tbe drinking, tbere is one universal beverage — 
beer. Tbis is a tbin, watery fluid, siicb as one migbt 
make by putting a spoonful of bitter berbs in a teapot 
and boiling them. To me it seemed like cold water 
spoiled. Yet otbers argiie tbat it is cold water im- 
proved. On tbis question I bave bad man}- discussions 
since I came to Germany. Tbe people take to beer as 
a tbing of coiu'se, as if it were tbe beverage tbat nature 
bad provided to assuage tbeii' tbirst, and wben they 
talk to you in a fi'iendly way, will caution you espe- 
cially to beware of drinking tbe water of tbe coimtry ! 
Wby tbey sbould tbink it dangerous, I cannot under- 
stand, for surely tbey do not drink enougb of it to do 
tbem any barm. Of course, in passing fi-om country 
to country, one needs to use prudence in di-inking 
tbe water, as in cbanges of diet, but tbe danger fi-om 
tbat source is greatly exaggerated. I bave drunk of 
water fi'eely everywhere in Europe, without any injury. 
Yet an American physician, who can bave no national 
prejudice in its favor, gravely ai'giies with me that tbe 
German beer is a most simple, refi'esbing, and healthful 
beverage, in proof of which he says tbat there is not 
one-haK — nor even a tenth part — of tbe indigestion and 
dyspepsia in Germany that there is in America, where 
our peojnle drench their stomachs ^viih. ice water ! 

Nor would be admit that Germans tb.'ink to such 
excess as I bad supposed from seeing men and women 
with foaming goblets before them ; but I observed 
that, instead of diinking them off at a di'augbt, as those 
who take stronger drinks ai"e wont to do, thev let them 



OUT-DOOR LITE OF THE GERMAN PEOPLE. 151 

stand, occasionally taking a sip, a single glass often last- 
ing the whole evening. Indeed it seemed as if many 
ordered a glass of beer on entering a public garden, 
as a way of paying for the privilege, by which, for a few 
kreutzers, (equal to a few pence,) they had the freedom 
of the garden, and of listening to excellent music. 

But if we cannot enter into any eulogium of German 
beer, at least it has this negative virtue : it does not make 
people drunk. It is not like the heavy ales or porters 
of England. This is a fact of immense consequence, 
that the universal beverage of forty millions of people is 
not intoxicating. Of course I do not mean to say that 
it is impossible for one to have his head swim by taking 
it in some enormous quantity. I only give my own 
observation, which is that I have seen thousands taking 
their beer, and never saw one in any degree affected by 
it. I give, therefore, the evidence of my senses, when 
I say that this beer does not make men drunk, it does 
not steal away their brains, or deprive them of reason. 

This is not an argument for the introduction of 
beer gardens in America. But as between the two, the 
beer gardens of Germany are a thousand times better 
than the gin shops of London, or the " sample rooms " 
of New York. In the latter men drink chiefly fiery 
wines, or whiskey, or brandy, or rum ; they drink what 
sends them reeling through the streets, to carry terror 
to their miserable homes ; while in Germany men drink 
what may be very bitter and bad-tasting stuff, but does 
not make one a maniac or a brute. No man goes home 
from a beer garden to beat his wife and children, because 
he has been made a madman by intoxication. On the 
contrary, he has had his wife and children with him ; 
they have all had a breath of fresh air, and enjoyed a 
good time together. 

Such are the simple pleasures of this simple German 



1 52 OUT-DOOR LIFE OF THE GERMAN PEOPLE. 

people — a people that love their homes, their wives 
and children, and whatever they enjoy, wish to enjoy it 
together. May we not learn from these habits of a for- 
eign people how to provide cheap and innocent recreations 
for our own ? Is there not some way of getting the good 
without the evil, of having this open-air life without any 
bad accompaniments? The question is one of recrea- 
tion, not of amusements, which is another thing, to be 
considered by itself. In these public gardens there are 
no games of any kind — not so much as a Punch and 
Judy, or a hand-organ with a monkey — nothing but sit- 
ting in the open air, enjoying conversation, and listen- 
ing to music. 

This question of popular recreations, or, to put it 
more broadly, how a people shall spend their leisure 
hours — hours when they are not at work nor asleep — 
is a very serious question, and one closely connected 
with public morals. In the life of every man in Amer- 
ica, even of the hard-worked laborer, there are several 
houis in the day when he is not bending to his task, 
and when he is not taking his meals. The work of the 
day is over, he has had his supper, but it is not time to 
go to bed. From seven to nine o'clock he has a couple 
of hours of leisure. What shall he do with them ? It 
may be said he ought to spend them in reading. No 
doubt this would be very useful, but perhaps the poor 
man is too jaded to fix his mind on a book. What he 
needs is diversion, recreation, something that occupies 
his mind without fatiguing it ; and what so charming as 
to sit out of doors in the summer time, in the cool of the 
evening, and listen to music, not being fixed to silence 
as in a concert room, but free to move about, and talk 
with his neighbors ? If there could be in every large 
town such a retreat under the shade of the trees, where 
tired workmen could come, and bring their wives and 



OUT-DOOR LIFE OP THE GERMAN PEOPLE. 153 

children with them, it would do a great deal to keep 
them out of drinking saloons and other places of evil 
resort. 

For want of something of this kind the young men 
in our cities and in oui' country villages seek recrea- 
tion where they can find it. In cities the better class 
resort to clubs. This club life has eaten into the 
domestic life of our American families. The husband, 
the son and brother, are but little at home. Would 
it not be better if they could have some simple recrea- 
tion which the whole family could enjoy together? In, 
country villages young men meet at the tavern, or in 
the street, for want of company, I have seen them, by 
twenty or thirty, sitting on a fence in a row, like barn- 
yard fowls, where, it is to be feared, their conversation 
is not of the most refined character. How much better 
for these young fellows to be in a public garden with 
their mothers and sisters, and all have a good time 
together ! If they must have something in the way of 
refreshment (although I do not see the need of anything ; 
" have they not their houses to eat and drink in ? " ), let 
it be of the simplest kind — something very cheap, for 
they have no money to waste — and something which 
shall at least do them no injury — ices and lemonade. 
Indeed on a hot summer evening one may find nothing 
so delicious as pure, cold water ! 

With these pictures of German life and manners, 
others can judge whether there is not a lesson for 
us in America. I know that the subject is a very 
delicate one to touch. It is easy to go too far, and to 
have one's arguments perverted to abuse. And yet, in 
spite of all this, recreation is a necessity of life. Rec- 
reation is not dissipation. Calvin pitching quoits may 
not seem to us quite as Tenerable a figure as Calvin 
writing his Institutes, or preaching in the Cathedral of 



154 OUT-DOOE LIFE OF THE GERMAN PEOPLE. 

Geneva ; and yet he was doing what was just as neces- 
sary. The mind must unbend, and the body too. I 
beheve hundreds of hves are lost every year in America 
for want of this timely rest and recreation. 

Some traveller has said that America is the country 
in which there is less suffering, and less enjoyment, than 
in any other country in the world. I am afraid there is 
some truth in this. Certainly we have not cultivated the 
art of enjoying ourselves. We are too busy. We are all 
the time toiling to accumulate, and give ourselves little 
time to enjoy. And when we do undertake it, it is a 
veiy solemn business with us. Nothing is more dreary 
than the efforts of some of our good people to enjoy 
themselves. They do not know how, and make an 
awkward shift of it. They put it off to a future year, 
when their work shall be aU done, and they will go to 
Europe, and do up their traveUing as a big job. Thus 
their very pleasures are forced, artificial, and expensive. 
And little pleasure they get after all! Many of these 
people I have met wandering about Europe, forlorn and 
wretched creatures, exiles from their own country, yet 
not at home in any other. They have not learned the 
art, which the Grermans might teach them, of simple 
pleasures, and of enjoying a little every day. This 
American habit of work without rest, is a wretched 
economy of life, which can be justified neither by reason 
nor religion. Such self-sacrifice as this is for no good 
object, but only from a selfish and miserly greed for 
gain. Men were not made to be mere drudges or slaves. 
Hard work, duly intermixed with work and recreation, is 
best for body and for mind, and gives the vital force 
whereby one can serve both God and man. 

We do a wrong to religion when we associate it with 
asceticism and gloom. If there is any class of men who 
are my special aversion, it is the moping, melancholy 



OUT-DOOB LITE OF THE GEEMAN PEOPLE. 155 

owls, who sit on the tree of life, and frown on every inno- 
cent human joy. Sorrow I can understand, and grief 
of every kind, penitence for wrong, and deep religious 
emotion ; but what I cannot understand, nor sympathize 
with, is tliat sour, sullen, morose temper, which looks 
sternly even on the sports of children, and would hush 
their prattle and glee. Siich a system of repression 
is false m philosophy, and false in morals. Children 
must be made happy if they would be made good. It 
is in the warm atmosphere of home life and domestic 
affection that the tender blossoms unfold. It is when 
held close in their mothers' arms, with tender eyes bent 
over them, that children first get some faint idea of that 
Infinite Love, of which maternal fondness is but the 
faint reflection. A happy childhood is the best nursery 
for a brave and noble manhood. 

Here I leave the subject to wiser heads than mine. 
It is something to state the problem ; to ask ourselves 
what is in the interest of morality, of the good order 
of society, and of the virtue as well as the happiness of 
the people ? My opinion is the result of wide observa- 
tion, and hence my conviction is one that I hold with no 
mental reservation whatever : it is that one of the very 
first conditions of mental as well as bodily health is 
recreation. What form it shall take, let others say. I 
stand only for the principle : that any recreation which 
promotes innocent enjoyment ; which is physically 
healthy and morally pure ; which keeps families together, 
and thus unites them by the tie of common pleasures 
(a tie only less strong than that of common sorrow) ; 
is a social influence that is friendly to virtue, and to aU 
which we most love and cherish, and on the whole one 
of the cleanest and wholesomest things in this wicked 
world. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

THE PASSION PLAY. 

"We have turned up in a new place, to see what is not 
to be seen in any other spot in Europe, nor indeed in 
the world. Ober-Ammergau is a small village in the 
Bavarian Alps, where for the last two hundred years has 
been performed, at regular intervals, the Passion Plat — 
that is, a dramatic representation, in which are enacted 
before us the principal events, and particulaiiy the clos- 
ing scenes, in the life of our Lord. The idea of such a 
thing, when first suggested to a Protestant mind, is not 
only strange, but revolting. It seems like holding up 
the agonies of our Saviour to public exhibition, dragging 
on the stage that which should remain an object of 
devout meditation. When I fii'st heard of it — some 
years ago, in America — I was shocked at what seemed 
the gToss impiety of the thing ; and yet, to my aston- 
ishment, several eminent ministers of New York who 
had witnessed it, told me that it was acted in the 
most rehgious spirit, and had produced on them an 
impression of gTeat solemnity. Such representations 
were veiy common in the IMiddle Ages ; I beUeve they 
continued longest in Spain, but gradually died out, till 
now this is the only spot in Europe where the custom 
is still observed. It has thus been perpetuated in fulfil- 
ment of a vow made two centuiies ago ; and here it may 
be continued for centimes to come. A performance so 
extraordinary naturally excites great curiosity. As it is 
given only once in ten years, the interest is not dulled 
by too frequent repetition ; and to those on the Conti- 
nent in the year of its observance it offers a great 
attraction. At such times this little mountain village is 



THE PASSION PLAY. 157 

thronged with visitors, not only from Bavaria and other 
Catholic countries, but from England and America. 

This is not the year for it to be acted. It was begun 
in 1870, but being interrupted by the Franco-German 
war, was resumed and completed in 1871. The next 
regular year will be I'^SO. But this year, 1875, which is 
midway between the two decennial years, has had a 
special interest from a gift of the King of Bavaria, 
who, wishing to mark his sense of the extraordinary 
devotion of this little spot in his dominions, has made it 
a present of a gigantic cross, or rather three crosses, to 
form a " Calvary," which is to be erected on a hill over- 
looking the town. In honor of this royal gift, it was 
decided to have this year a special representation, not of 
the full Passion Play, but of a series of tableaux of 
scenes from the Old and New Testaments dramatized 
into what is called the School of the Cross. It is not in 
any strict sense a Play, though intended to represent the 
greatest of aU tragedies, but a series of Tableaux Vivants, 
in some cases (only in those from the Old Testament) the 
statuesque representation being enlivened by words from 
the Bible in the mouths of the actors in the scene. The 
annotmcement of this new sacred drama (if such it may 
be called) reached us in Vienna, and drew us to this 
mountain village, even though it hastened our visits to 
two of the most attractive places in Southern Germany : 
Salzburg, which is sometimes said to be "the most 
beautiful spot in Europe," where we spent three days ; 
and Munich, with its Art Galleries, where we spent four ; 
in both of which we cut short ouj: stay to reach this 
very unique exhibition, so unlike anything to be seen in 
any other part of the world. 

We left Munich by rail, and, after an hour's ride, 
varied our journey by a sail across the Starnberg See, 
and then took to a diligence, to convey us into the heart 



158 THE PASSION PLAY. 

of the moantains. Among our companions were sev- 
eral Catholic priests, who were making a pilgrimage to 
Ober-Ammergau as a sacred place. The sun had set 
before we reached our destination. As we approached 
the hamlet, we found wreaths and banners hung on poles 
along the road — the sigTis of the fete on the morrow. 
As the resources of the little place were very limited, the 
visitors, as they arrived, had to be quartered among the 
people of the village. We had taken tickets at Munich 
which secured us at least a roof over our heads, and 
were assigned to the house of one of the better class of 
peasants, where the good man and good wife received 
us very kindly, and gave us such accommodations as 
their small quarters allowed, showing us to our rooms 
up a little stair which was Hke a ladder, and shutting us 
in by a trap-door ! It gave us a strange feeling of dis- 
tance and lonehness, to find ourselves sleeping in such 
a loft, under the roof of a peasant among the mountains 
of Bavaria. 

The morning broke fair and bright, and soon the 
whole village was astir. Peasants dressed in their gay- 
est clothes came flocking in from all the countryside. 
At nine o'clock three cannon shots announced that 
the hour had come. The place of the performance was 
on rising ground, a little out of the village, where a 
large barn-like structiire had been erected, which might 
hold a thousand people. Formerly when the Passion 
Play was performed, it was given in the open air, no 
building being sufficient to contain the crowds which 
thronged to the unaccustomed spectacle. This rude 
structure was arranged like a theatre, with a stage for 
the actors, and the rest of the house divided off into 
seats, the best of which were occupied by strangers, 
while the peasant population crowded the galleries. We 
had front seats, which were separated from the stage 



THE PASSION PLAY. 159 

only by the orcliestra, the music of which was composed 
as well as performed wholly by such talent as the little 
village itself could provide. 

At length the music ceased, and the choir, which was 
composed of thirteen persons in two divisions, entered 
from opposite sides of the stage, and formed in line in 
front of the curtain. The choir takes a leading part in 
this extraordinary performance — the same, indeed, that 
the chorus does in the old Greek tragedy, preceding 
each act or tableau with a recitation or a hymn, designed 
as a prelude to introduce what is to follow, and at 
the close of the act concluding with what preachers 
would call an improvement or application. In this open- 
ing chant the choms introduced the mighty story of 
man's redemption, as Milton began his Paradise Lost, 
by speaking' 

Of man's flrst disobedience, and the fruit 
Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste 
Brought death into the world, and all our woe. 

It was a sort of recitative or plaintive melody, fit key- 
note of the sad scenes that were to follow. The voices 
ceased, and the curtain rose. 

The first Biblical characters who appear on the 
stage are Cain and Abel, who are dressed in skins 
after the primitive fashion of our race. Abel, who is 
of light complexion and hair, is clad in the whitest 
and softest sheep's wool ; while Cain, who is dark- 
featured, and of a sinister and angry coxmtenance, is 
covered with a flaming leopard's skin, as best betokens 
his blood-thirsty character. In the background rises 
the incense of Abel's offering. Cain is disturbed and 
angry ; he speaks to his brother in a harsh voice. Abel 
replies in the gentlest accents, trying to soften his 
brother's heart and turn away his wrath. Father Adam, 
too, appears on the scene, using his parental authority 



IfiO THE PASSION PLAY. 

to reconcile his children ; and Eve comes in, and laying 
her light hand on the arm of her infuriated son, tries to 
soothe him to a gentler mood. Even the Angel of the 
Lord steps forth from among the trees of the Garden, to 
warn him of the evil of unbridled rage, and to urge him 
to timely repentance, that his offering may he accepted. 
These united persuasions for the moment seem to be 
successful, and there is an apparent reconciliation 
between the brothers; Cain falls on Abel's neck, and 
embraces him. Yet, even while using the language of 
affection, he has a club in his hand, which he holds 
behind him. But the fatal deed is not done upon the 
stage ; for throughout the play there is an effort to keep 
out of sight any repulsive act. So they retire from the 
scene. But presently nature itself announces that some 
deed of violence and blood is being done ; the light- 
nings flash and thunders roll ; and Adam reappears, 
bearing Abel in his aged arms, and our first parents 
together indulge in loud lamentations over the body of 
their murdered son ! 

This story of Cain and Abel occupied several short 
acts, in which the curtain rose and fell several times, and 
at the end of each the chorus came upon the stage to 
give the moral of the scene. 

In the dialogues the speakers foUow closely the Old 
Testament. If occasional sentences are thrown in to 
give a little more fulness of detail, at least there is no 
departure from the general outline of the sacred narra- 
tive. It is the story of the first crime, the first shedding 
of human blood, told in a dramatic form, by the person- 
ages themselves appearing on the stage. 

These scenes from the Old Testament were mingled 
with scenes from the New, the aim being to use one to 
illustrate the other — the antitype following the type in 
close succession. Thus the pendant of the former scenes 



THE PASSION PLAY. 161 

was given in the corresponding crime which darkens the 
pages of the New Testament history — the betrayal of 
Christ. But there was this difference between the scenes 
from the Old Testament and those from the New : in the 
latter there was no dialogue whatever, and no action, as 
if it was all too sacred for words — nothing but the 
tableaux, the figures standing in one attitude, fixed and 
motionless. First, there was the scene of Christ driving 
the money-changers from the temple, in which a large 
number of figures — I should think twenty or thirty — 
appeared upon the stage, and held their places with 
unchanging look. Not one moved ; they scarcely 
breathed ; but stood fixed as marble. All the historic 
characters were present — the priests in their robes (the 
costumes having been evidently studied with great care), 
and the Pharisees glaring with rage upon our Lord, as 
with holy indignation He spurns the profane intruders 
from the sacred precincts. 

Next we are witnesses of the betrayal of Christ. 
Judas leads the way to the spot where our Saviour 
kneels in prayer ; the crowd follow with lanterns ; 
there are the Eoman soldiers, and in the background 
are the priests, the instigators of the greatest of crimes. 

In another scene Judas appears again, overwhelmed 
with remorse, casting down his ill-gotten money before 
the priests, who look on scornfully, as if bidding him 
keep the price of blood, and take its terrible conse- 
quences. 

As might be supposed, the part of Judas is one not 
to be coveted, and we cannot look at a countenance 
showing a mixture of hatred and greed, without a 
strong repugnance. There was a story that the man 
who acted Judas in the Passion Play in 1 870 had been 
killed in the French war, but this we find to be an error. 
It was a very natural invention of some one who thought 



162 THE PASSION PLAY. 

that a mail capable of such a crime ought to be killed. 
But the old Judas is still liviiig, aiid, off from the stage, 
is said to be one of the most -worthy men of the village. 

Plaviiig tluis set before us the most striking illus- 
trations of human guilt, in the tirst crime that ever 
stained the earth with blood, and in the greatest of aU 
crimes, which caused the death of Christ, we have next 
presented the method of man's redemption. The chorus 
again eutei's upon the stage, and recites the story of the 
fall, how man sinned, and was to be recovered by the 
sacrilice of one Avho was to suffer for a ruined world. 
Again the curtain rises, and the idea of sacrifice is 
set before ns in the smoking tiltai* of the high piiest 
Melchisodek, 

A more terrible illustration of sacrifice is that of 
Isaac. We see the struggle of his father Abraham, 
who is bowed with sorrow, and the heai't-broken looks 
of Sariili, his wife. The latter part was ttd^en by a 
person of a very sweet face, the effect of which was 
heightened by its being overcast with sadness, and by 
the Orient;il costume, that, covering a part of the face, 
left the dark eyes which peered out from under the 
long eyelashes, to be turned on the beholders. Every- 
thing in the appe;u'ance of Abraham, his bending form 
and flowing beard, answered to the idea of the venerable 
patriiU'ch. The coukiir locale was preserved even in the 
attendants, who might have been Ai*abian servants that 
had just dismounted fr-om their camels at the door of the 
tent. Isaac appears, an innocent and confiding boy, 
Avith no presumption of the dark and terrible fate that 
is impending over him. And when the gentle Sarah 
appears, tenderly solicitous for the safety of her child, 
the coldest spectator could hai-dly be unmoved by a 
scene pictured with such touching fidehty. It is with a 
feeling of relief that, as the feai'ful tragedy approaches 



THE PASSION PLAY. 163 

its consummation, we hear the voice of the angel, and 
Bee that another sacrifice has been provided. 

But all these scenes of darkness and sorrow are now 
to find their culmination in the death of our Lord, to 
which all ancient types converge, and on which all 
ancient symbols cast their faint and flickering, but not 
uncertain, light. As the scenes approach this grand 
climax, they grow in pathos and solemnity. Each is 
more tender and more effective than the last. 

One of the most touching, as might be supposed, is 
that of the Last Supper, in which we recogni2;e every 
one of the disciples, so closely has the grouping been 
studied from the painting of Leonardo da Vinci and from 
other old masters with whom this was a favorite subject. 
There are Peter and John and the rest, all turning 
with an eager, anxious look towards the Master, with 
an indescribable sadness on their faces. Again the 
scene changes, and we see our Lord in the Garden of 
Gethsemane. The three disciples, overcome with weari- 
ness and sorrow, are slumbering ; and on the sacred 
mount at midnight 

"The suffering Saviour prays alone." 

Again the curtain falls, and the chorus, in tones still 
more plaintive and mournful, announce that the end is 
near. The curtain rises, and we behold the cracifixion ! 
Here there are thirty or forty persons introduced. In 
the foreground are three or four figures casting lots. 
The Roman soldier with his spear is looking upward. 
The three Marys are at the feet of their Lord ; Mary 
Magdalene nearest of aU, with her arms clasped round 
the cross ; Mary, the mother of Christ, looking up with 
weeping eyes ; and a little farther Mary, the wife of 
Cleophas. The two thieves are hanging, with their arms 
thrown over the cross-tree, as they are represented in 



164 THE PASSION PLAY. 

many of the paintings of the Crucifixion. But we 
scarcely notice them, as our eyes are fixed on the Cen- 
tral Figure. The man who takes the part of Christ in 
this Divine Tragedy, has made a study of it for years, 
and must have trained himself to great physical endur- 
ance for a scene which must tax his strength to the 
utmost. His arms ai-e extended, his hands and feet 
seem to be pierced with the nails, and flowing with 
blood. Even without actual wounds the attitiide itself 
must be extremely painful. How he could support the 
weight of his body in such a posture was a wonder to 
us all. It was said that he rested one foot on some- 
thing projecting from the cross, but even then it seemed 
incredible that he could keep the position for more than 
a single instant. Yet in the Passion Play he remains 
suspended twenty minutes, and is taken down almost in 
a fainting condition ! 

But how did the sight affect us ? Twenty-four hours 
before I could not have beheved that I could look upon it 
without a feehng of horror, but so skilfuUy had the points 
of the sacred drama been rendered, that my interest 
had been wound up to the highest pitch, and when the 
curtain rose on the last tremendous scene, I was quite 
overcome at the most av>^\ tragedy that the earth ever 
beheld. So excited were we, and the whole audience, 
that it was a relief when the curtain fell. 

To give a further relief to this painful intensity, the 
next scene was of a different character. It was not 
the Resurrection, though it might have been intended 
to symbolize it, as in it the actor appears as if he had 
been brought back from the dead. It is the story of 
Joseph, which is introduced to illustrate the method of 
Divine Providence in bringing light out of darkness. 
Old Jacob appears, bowed with grief at the loss of his 
son. Then comes the marvellous succession of events 



THE FASSION FLAT. 165 

by which the darkness is turned to light. Bewildered 
at the news of his son being in Egypt, at first he cannot 
believe the good tidings, till at last convinced, he rises 
up saying, " Joseph, my son, is yet alive ; I will go and 
see him before I die." Then follows the return to Egypt, 
and the meeting with him who was dead and is alive 
again, when the old man falls upon his neck, and Joseph's 
children (two curly-headed little fellows whom we had 
the privilege of kissing before the day was over) were 
brought to his knees to receive his blessing. Thus the 
tragedy ended iu a domestic scene, the pathos of which 
touched every heart. 

The last tableau of all was the Ascension, which was 
less impressive than some that had gone before, as it 
could only be imperfectly represented. The Saviour 
appears standing on the mount, with outstretched hands, 
in the midst of His disciples, but there the scene ends, 
as it could go no further ; there could be no descending 
cloud to receive Him out of their sight. 

With this last act the curtain feU. The whole repre- 
sentation had occupied three hours. 

Now as to the moral impression of this extraordinary 
performance. As a piece of acting it was simply wonder- 
ful. The parts were filled admirably. The characters 
were perfectly kept. Even the costumes were as faith- 
fully reproduced as in any of those historical dramas 
which are now and then put upon the stage, such as 
tragedies founded on events in ancient Greek or Roman 
history, where the greatest pains are taken to render 
every detail with the utmost fidelity. This is the more 
remarkable when it is considered that it is all done by 
a company of Bavarian peasants, who might be fovmd 
in any Alpine village. The explanation is, that this 
representation is the work of their Uves. They have 
trades, hke other poor people, and work hard for a living. 



166 THE PASSION PLAY. 

But their great interest, that which gives a touch of 
poetrr to their humble existence, and raises them above 
the level of other peasants, is the representation of this 
Passion Play. It has come down to them fi-om their 
fathers. It has been acted among them for two hun- 
di-ed years. There ai'e traditions handed down fi-om 
one generation to another of the way in which this or 
that pai-t should be performed. In the long intervals of 
ten years between the representations, they practise con- 
stantly upon their several parts, so that at the last they 
attain a wonderful degree of perfection. 

Of course to our cold Protestant ideas it seems sim- 
ply monstrous, a horrid travesty of sacred reahties. So 
I confess it would appear to me but for the surround- 
ings and for the sincerity' of the actors. But the feel- 
ing of repulsion is changed when we consider that 
it is all done in a spirit of devotion. These Bava- 
rian peasants are a very religious people. Pictiu'es of 
saints and angels, or of Christ and the Virgin Maiy, ai-e 
seen in every house ; crosses and images and shrines 
are all along the roads. And when they come to the 
performance of this Passion Play, all who ai'e to take part 
in it fii'st go to the communion ; and with hearis peni- 
tent and subdued, assume these sacred characters, and 
speak these holy words. For this reason, while the 
attempt to transport the Passion Play elsewhere would 
be very repulsive, it may be left where it is, in this lonely 
valley of the Bavarian mountains, an unique and sohtary 
rehc of the rehgious customs of the Middle Ages. 

But while one such representation is quite enough, 
and we are well content that it should stand alone, and 
there should not be another, yet he must be a dull 
obseiwer who does not derive fi'om it some useful hints 
as to the wav of presenting religious tiiith. 

Preachers are not actors, and when some sensational 



THE PASSION PLAY. 167 

preachers try to introduce into tlie pulpit the arts which 
they have learned from the stage, they are apt to make 
lamentable failures. To say that a preacher is theatri- 
cal, is to stamp him as a kind of clerical mountebank. 
And yet there is a use of the dramatic element which is 
not forced nor artificial, which, on the contrary, is the 
most simple and natural way of speaking. The dra- 
matic element is in human nature. Children use ges- 
tures in talking, and vary their tones of voice. They 
do not stand stiff as a post, as some preachers do. The 
most poptdar speakers are dramatic in their style. 
Gough, the temperance lecturer, who addressed more 
and larger audiences in America and Great Britain 
than any other man of his time, was a consummate 
actor. His art of mimicry, his power of imitating the 
expression of countenance and tones of voice, was won- 
derful. And our eloquent friend Talmage owes much of 
his power to the freedom with which he walks up and 
down his platform, which is a kind of stage, and throws 
in ^incidents to illustrate his theme, often acting, as well 
as relating, them with great effect. 

But not only is the dramatic element in human 
nature, it is in the Bible, which runs over with it. The 
Bible is not merely a volume of ethics. It is fuU of nar- 
rative, of history and biography, and of dialogue. Many 
of the teachings of our Saviour are in the form of con- 
versations, of which it is impossible to give the full 
meaning and spirit, without changes of manner and 
inflections of voice. So with the exquisite story of Ruth, 
or that of Joseph and his brethren. It is almost a dese- 
cration to read such sweet and tender passages in a dull 
and monotonous voice, as if one had not a particle of 
feeling of their beauty. If one is too dull to learn other- 
wise, these simple Bavarian peasants might teach him 
to throw into his reading from the pulpit a little of the 



168 THE PASSION PLAT. 

pathos and tenderness which they give to the conversa- 
tion of Joseph with his father Jacob. 

Of course, in introducing the dramatic element into 
the pulpit, it is to be done with a close self-restraint, and 
with the utmost delicacy and tenderness. But so used, 
it may subserve the highest ends of preaching. Of this 
an illustrious example is furnished in the annals of 
the American pulpit, in the BHnd Preacher of Virginia, 
the impression of whose eloquence is preserved by the 
pen of "\TiUiam Wii't. When that venerable old man, 
lifting his sightless eyeballs to heaven, described the last 
suffc rings of our Lord, it was as if he had been a spec- 
tator of the mournful scene, and with such pathos in 
his tones as melted the whole assembly to tears, and the 
excitement seemed almost beyond control ; and the 
stranger held his breath in fear and wonder how they 
were to be let do^vn from that exaltation of feehng. 
But the blind man held them as a master. Pausing for 
a moment of silence, he raised his hands to heaven, and 
exclaimed with Rousseau : " Socrates died hke a philos- 
opher, but Jesus Christ hke a God ! " In this marvellous 
eloquence the preacher used the dramatic element as 
truly as any actor in the Passion Play, the object in 
both cases being the same, to bring most vividly before 
the mind the hfe and death of the Saviotu* of the world. 

If this wonderful impersonation of scenes in the Hfe 
of our Lord teaches nothing else, it teaches that the 
one thing which most interests all, high and low, rich 
and poor, is the old, old story of that Divine life, 
told with the utmost simphcity and tenderness. I care 
not whether it be in chiu'ch or cathedral, or on these 
Bavarian hiUs ; any method is lawful which brings us 
nearer to Him. Even that which has been conceived in 
superstition may minister to a devout spirit. And so I 
never see one of these crosses by the roadside without 



THE PASSION PLAY. 169 

its turning my thoughts to Him who was lifted up 
upon it, and in my secret heart I whisper, " O Christ, 
Eedeemer of the world, he near me now ! " 

Some will think this a weak sentimentaHsm, or even a 
tolerance of superstition. But with all respect for their 
prejudices, I find the same Presence in the city or the 
forest, or on the mountain. And nothing so stills the 
tumult of sorrow as to look up to the Great Sufferer. 
Who would not follow where He has led the way ? As 
George Herbert says : 

Christ leads us through no darker rooms 

Than He went through hefore ; 
Whoso into God's kingdom comes 

Must enter hy this door. 

All this summer, while wandering in so many beauti- 
ful scenes, among lakes and mountains, I have felt the 
strongest craving for the rest and peace that could be 
found only in perfect faith. I have been looking for 
something which I did not find either in the populous 
city, or in the solitary place where no man was. Some- 
thing had vanished from the earth, the absence of which 
left a loneliness which the world could not relieve. " The 
deep said. It is not in me," and nature said, " It is not 
in me." What is this but the human soul groping 
after God, if haply it may find Him ? " The heart and 
the flesh cry out for the living God," a cry that has 
been wrung from my heart in lonely and desolate hours, 
when standing on the deck of a ship, or on the peak of 
a mountain ! This weakness reaches out to any symbol 
of faith : and when I see the sign of the cross lifted up 
here in the heart of the Bavarian Alps, the heart that was 
ready to die within me cries out, " O Lamb of God, that 
takest away the Bin of the world, grant me Thy peace ! " 



CHAPTEE X\Tr. 

THE TTEOL AND LAKE COMO. 

" Do not fail to go to the Tyrol," was tlie last direction 
of a fiiend in New York, who was a veteran traveller. 
It is less overrun with toiu'ists than Switzerland, but this 
is a recommendation ; and it is hai'dly less worthy of a 
"sdsit. To be siu'e, the mountains are not quite so high 
as Mont Blanc and the Matterhorn (there ai'e not so 
many snow-clad peaks and glaciers), but they are high 
enough ; there ai-e many that pierce the clouds, and the 
roads wind amid perpetutil wildness, yet not without 
beaiity also, for at the foot of these savage mountains 
lie the lovehest green vaUeys, which are inhabited by 
a simple, brave people, who have often defended their 
Alpine passes with such valor as has made them as full 
of historical interest as they ai'e of natui'al gTandeur, 

Innsbruck is the capital of the Tyrol, and the usual 
stai'ting point for a tour ; biit as at Ober-Ammergau we 
were to the west, we found a neai'er point of depiuiiire 
at Partenldrchen, a small town lying in the lap of the 
mountains, fi'om which a joiu-ney through Lermos, Nas- 
sereit, Imst, Landeck and Mais, leads one through the 
heart of the Tp'ol, ending with the Stelvio Pass, the 
highest over the Alps. It is a long day's ride to Lan- 
deck, but we ordered a caniage with a pair of stout 
horses, and went to our rest full of expectation of what 
we should see on the morrow. 

But the night was not promising ; the rain fell in tor- 
rents, and the morning was dark and lowering ; but we 
set out with a faith that was soon rewarded, for the 
clouds broke away, and though they lingered in scat- 



THE TTROL AND LAKE COMO. 171 

tered masses, sufficient to shade us from the heat of the 
Sim, they did not obscure the sight of the mountains 
and the valleys. The rains had laid the dust and cooled 
the air, and all day long we were floating through a 
succession of scenes of mingled wildness and beauty. 

The villages are less pictiiresque than the country. 
They are generally built very compact, appaiently as a 
security against the winter, when storms rage through 
the valleys, and there is a feeling of safety in being 
thus huddled together. The houses are of stone, with 
arched passage-ways for the horses to be driven into a 
central yard. They look very solid, but are not tasteful, 
nor ever' picturesque, and the accommodations for 
travellers are not good. There are as yet none of the 
magnificent hotels which the flood of English tourists 
has caused to be built at every noted point in Switzer- 
land ; in the Tyrol one has to depend on the inns of the 
country, and these, with a few exceptions, are poor. 
Looking through the one long, narrow street of a 
Tyrolean village, one sees little that is attractive, but 
much to the contrary. Heaps of manure lie exposed 
by the roadside, and not only before the bams, but 
often before the houses, where they seem to be regarded 
as the agricultui'al riches of the cultivators of the soil, 
and are displayed with as much pride as a shepherd 
would take in showing his flocks and herds. These 
features of a hamlet in the Tyrol an American traveller 
regards with disgust, as he thinks of the contrast pre- 
sented to a New England village, the paradise of neat- 
ness and comfort. 

Such things seem to show an utter absence of taste ; 
and 3'et these people are very fond of flowers. Almost 
every house has a httle patch of ground for their cultiva- 
tion, and the contrast is strange indeed between the filth 
on one side and the beauty and bloom on the other. 



172 THE TYEOL AND LAKE COMO. 

Another feature which strikes one is the universal 
reverence and devotion. The Tyrolese, like the peasants 
of Bavaria, are a very religious people. One can hardly 
travel a mile without coming to a cross or a shrine by 
the wayside, with an image of Christ and the Virgin. 
On the highest point of a mountain, where only the 
shepherd builds his hut, that he may watch his flocks 
in the summer as they feed on those elevated pastures, 
may be seen a little chapel, whose white spire, gleaming 
in the sunset, is as strange as would be a rude chapel 
built by a company of miners on a solitary peak of the 
Rocky Mountains. 

These summer pastures are a feature of the Tyrol. 
High up on the sides of the mountains one may descry 
here and there, amid the masses of rock, or the pine 
forest, a little oasis of green (called an Alp), where a few 
rods of more level ground permit of cultivation. It 
would seem as if these heights were almost inaccessible, 
as if only the chamois could clamber up such rocks, or 
find a footing where only stunted pines can grow. Yet 
so industrious are these simple Tyroleans, and so hard- 
pressing is the necessity which compels them to use 
every foot of the soil, that they follow in the path of the 
chamois, and turn even the tops of the mountains into 
greenness, and plant their little patches almost on the 
edge of the snows. Wherever the grass can grow, the 
cattle and goats find sustenance on the scanty herbage. 
To these mountain pastures they are driven, so soon as 
the snows are melted off from the heights, and the tender 
grass begins to appear, and there they are kept till 
the return of cold compels them to descend. Looking 
upward with our spy glass, we could see the little clusters 
of huts on the very tops of the mountains, where the 
shepherds, by coming together, try to lighten a little the 
loneliness of their lot, banished for the time from all 



THE TYROL AND LAKE COMO. 173 

other human habitations. But what a solitary exist- 
ence — the only sound that greets their ears the tinkling 
of the cow-bells, or the winding of the shepherd's horn, 
or the chime of some chapel bell, which, perched on a 
neighboring height, sends its sweet tones across the 
valley. Amid such scenes, we rode through a dozen 
villages, past hills crowned with old castles, and often 
looked down from the mountain sides into deep hollows 
glistening with lakes. As we came into the valley of the 
Inn, we remembered that this was all historic ground. 
The bridges over which we passed have often been the 
scene of bloody conflicts, and in these narrow gorges 
the Tyrolese have rolled down rocks and trees on the 
heads of theu' invaders. 

We slept that night at Landeck, in a very decent, 
comfortable inn, kept by a good motherly hostess, and 
the next morning exchanged our private carriage for the 
stellwaggen, a small diligence which runs to Mais. Our 
journey was now made still more pleasant by falling in 
with a party of three clergymen of the Chiu-ch of Eng- 
land — all rectors of important churches in or near Lon- 
don, who had been, like ourselves, to Ober-Ammergau, 
and were returning through the Tyrol. They had been 
also to the Old CathoUc Conference at Bonn, where they 
met our friend Dr. Schaff, and had much to say of 
the addresses of Dr. Dollinger, and of the Old Catholic 
movement, of which they had not very high expecta- 
tions, although they thought its influence, as far as it 
went, was good. For three days we travelled together ; 
nor could we have wished more agi*eeable companions. 
Their conversation, as we walked up the steep ascents 
of the mountains, gave an additional enjoyment to this 
most deHghtful journey. 

Our second day's ride led us over the Finstermunz 
Pass, in which all the features of Tyrolean scenery of 



174 THE TYKOL AND LAEE COMO. 

the day before were repeated with increasing grandeur. 
For many miles the line of me Tyrol is close to that of 
Switzerland ; across a deep gorge, through which flows 
a rapid river, lies the Engadine, which of late years has 
been a favorite resort of Swiss tourists, and where our 
friend Prof. Hitchcock -with his family has been spend- 
ing the summer at St. Moritz. 

Towards the close of the day we descried in the dis- 
tance a range of snowy summits, and were told that this 
was the chain that we were to cross on the morrow. 

But all the experiences of those two days — in which 
we thought our superlatives were exhausted — were sur- 
passed on the thu'd as we crossed the Pass of the Stelvio. 
This is the highest pass in Europe, and on this day it 
seemed as if we were scaling heaven itself. Having a 
party of live, we procured a diligence to OTorselves. We 
set out from Mais at six o'clock in the morning, and 
crossing the rushing, foaming Adige, began the ascent. 
Soon the mountains close in upon us, the Pass gTows 
narrower and steeper ; the horses have to pull harder ; 
we get out and walk, partly to relieve the hard-breathing 
animals, but more to see at every turn the savage wUd- 
ness of the scenery. How the road turns and twists in 
every way to get a foothold, doubling on itself a hun- 
dred times in its ascent of a few miles. And look, how 
the grandeur grows as we mount into this higher air ! 
The snow-peaks are all round us, and the snow melting 
in the fiery sun, feeds many streams which pour down 
the rocky sides of the mountains to unite in the valley 
below, and which filled the sohtudes with a perpetual 
roar. 

After such steady climbing for seven hours, at one 
o'clock we reached a resting place for dinner (where we 
halted an hour), a shelf between the mountains, from 
which, as we were now above the line of trees, and ncb 



THE TYROL AND LAKE COMO. 175 

forests intercepted tlie view, we could see our way to the 
very summit. The road winds in a succession of zigzags 
up the side of the mountain. The distance in an air 
line is not perhaps more than two miles, though it is six 
and a haK by the road, and it took us just two hours to 
reach the top. At length at four o'clock we reached the 
point, over nine thousand feet above the level of the sea, 
where a stone monument marks at once the summit of 
the Pass and the dividing line between the Tyrol and 
Lombardy. All leaped from the carriage in delight, to 
look round on the wilderness of mountains. To the left 
was the great range of the Ortler Alps, with the Ortler 
Spitze rising like a white dome above them all. At last 
we were among the snows. We were above the line of 
vegetation, where not a tree grows, nor a blade of grass 
— where all is barrenness and desolation. 

The Stelvio is utterly impassable the greater part of 
the year. In a few weeks more the snows will fall. 
By the end of September it is considered unsafe, and 
the passage is attempted at one's peril, as the traveller 
may be caught in a storm, and lost on the mountain. 

Perhaps some of my readers will ask, what we often 
asked. What is the use of building a road amid these 
frightful solitudes, when it cannot be travelled the 
greater part of the year ? What is the use of carrying 
a highway up into the clouds? Why build such a 
Jacob's ladder into heaven itself, since after all this is 
not the way to get to heaven ? It must have cost mill- 
ions. But there is no population along the road to 
justify the expense. It could not be built for a few poor 
mountaineers. And yet it is constructed as solidly as 
the Appian way leading out of Rome. It is an immense 
work of engineering. For leagues upon leagues it has 
to be supported by solid stone-work to prevent its being 
washed away by torrents. The answer is easy. It is a 



J 76 THE TXROL AUD LAKE COMO. 

military road, bxiilt, if not for purposes of conquest, yet 
to bold one insecure dominion. Twenty yeai's ago tlie 
upper part of Italy was a dependency of xiustria, but an 
insecure one, always in a chronic state of discontent, 
always on tbe verge of rebellion. This road was built to 
enable the government at Vienna to move troops swiftly 
through the Tjv'rol over this pass, and pour them down 
upon the plains of Lombai'dy. Hannibal and Caesar had 
crossed the Alps, but the achievement was the most 
daring in the annals of ancient wai'fare. Napoleon 
passed the Great St. Bernju'd, but he felt the need of 
an easier passage for his troops, and constructed the 
Simplon, not fi-om a benevolent wish to benefit mankind, 
but simply to render more secure his hold upon Italy, as 
he showed by asking the engineers who came to report 
upon the progi'ess of the work, " When will the road 
be ready to pass over the cannon ? " Such was the 
design of Austria in building the road over the Stelvio. 
But man proposes and God disposes. It was built with 
the resoiu'ces of an empire, and now that it is finished, 
Lombai'dy, by a succession of events not anticipated in 
the royal councils, falls to reunited Italy, and this road, 
the highest in Europe, remains, not a channel of con- 
quest, but a highway of civilization. 

But here we are on the top of the Pass, from which 
we can look into three countries — an empu'e, a kingdom, 
and a repubhc. Austria is behind us, and Italy is befoi'e 
us, and Switzerland, throned on the Alps, stands close 
beside us. After resting awhile, and feasting our eyes 
on the glorious sight, we prepare to descend. 

We are not out of the Tji'ol even when we have 
crossed the frontier, for there is an Italian as well as an 
Austiian Tyrol, which has the same features, and may 
be said to extend to Lake Como. 

The descent from the Stelvio is quite as wonderful as 



THE TYROL AND LAKE COMO. 177 

tlie ascent. Perhaps the impression is even greater, as 
the descent is more rapid, and one realizes more the 
height and depth, as he is whirled down the pass by 
a hundred zigzag turns, over bridges and through gal- 
leiies of rock, till at last, at the close of a long sum- 
mer's day, he reaches the Baths of Bormio, and pltmging 
into one of the baths, for which the place is so famous, 
washes away the dust of the journey, and rests from the 
fatigue of a day never to be forgotten, in which he made 
the Pass of the Stelvio. 

For one fond (jf mountain climbing, who wished to 
make foot excursions among the Alps, there are not 
many better points than this of the Baths of Bormio. 
It is under the shadow of the great mountains, yet is 
itself only about four thousand feet high, so that it is 
easily accessible from Vjelow, and yet is nearly half way 
up to the heights above. 

But we were on our way to Italy, and the next day 
continued our course down the valley of the Adda. 
Hour after hour we kept going down, down, till it 
seemed as if we must at last reach the very bottom of 
the mountains, where their granite foundations are 
embedded in the solid mass of the planet. But this 
descent gave us a succession of scenes of indescribable 
beauty. Slowly the valley widened before us. The 
mountains wore a rugged aspect. Instead of sterile 
masses of rock, mantled with snows, and piercing the 
clouds, they began to be covered with pines, which, like 
moss upon rocks, softened and beautified their rugged 
breasts. As we advanced still farther, the slopes were 
covered with vineyards ; we were entering the land of 
the olive and the vine ; terrace on terrace rose on the 
mountain side ; every shelf of rock, or foot of ground, 
where a vine could grow, was covered. The rocky soil 
yields the most delicious grapes. Women brought us 



178 THE TYEOL AND LAKE COMO. 

great clusters ; a franc purchased enough for our whole 
party. The industry of the people seemed more like the 
hatits of birds building their nests on every point of 
vantage, or of bees constructing their precious combs in 
the trunks of old trees or in the clefts of the rocks, than 
the industry of human creatirres, which requires some 
little "verge and scope" for its manifestations. And 
now along the banks of the Adda are httle plots of level 
ground, which admit of more open cultivation. Olive 
trees are mingled with the vines. The orchards remind 
us of New England ; while groves, or forests, of mul- 
berry trees are grown along the road, for the raising of 
silk is one of the industries of Lombardy ; and there 
are thousands of "willows by the water-coui'ses, from 
which they are cutting the lithe and supple branches, to 
be woven into baskets. It is the glad summer time, and 
the land is rejoicing with the joy of harvest. " The val- 
leys ai'e covered over with corn ; they shout for joy ; 
they also sing." As it was a warm afternoon, the 
peoj)le were gathering in the hay ; and a pretty sight it 
was to see men and women in the fields raking the rows, 
and very sweet to inhale the smell of the new-mown hay, 
as we whirled along the road. 

These are pretty features of an Italian landscape ; I 
wish that the impression was not marred by some which 
are less pleasant. But the comfort of the people does 
not seem to correspond to their industry. There is no 
economy in their labor ; everything is done in the old- 
fashioned way, and in the most wasteful methods. I did 
not see a mowing or a reaping machine in the Tyrol, 
either on this or the other side of the mountains. They 
use wooden ploughs, drawn by cows as often as by oxen, 
and so little management have they, that one person is 
employed, generally a woman, to lead the miserable 
team, or rather pull them along. I have seen a whole 



THE TYROL AND LAKE COMO. 179 

family attached to a pair of sorry cattle — ^the man hold- 
ing the plough, the woman pulling the rope ahead, and a 
poor Uttle chap, who did his best, whipping behind. 
The crojDS are gathered in the same slipshod way. The 
hay is aU carried in baskets on the backs of women. It 
was a pitiful sight to see them groaning under their 
loads, often stopping by the roadside to rest. 1 longed 
to see one of our Berkshire farmers enter the hay-field 
with a pair of lusty oxen and a huge cart, which would 
transport at a single load a weight such as would break 
the backs of all the women in an Italian village. 

Of course women subjected to this kind of work, are 
soon bent out of all appearance of beauty ; and when to 
this is added the goitre, which prevails to a shocking 
extent in these mountain valleys, they are but wretched 
hags in appearance. 

And yet the Italians have a gift of beauty, if it were 
not marred by such untoward circumstances. Many 
a bright, Spanish-looking face looked out of windows, 
and peered from under the arches, as we rattled through 
the Tillages ; and the children were almost always pretty, 
even though in rags. With their dark brown faces, curly 
hair, and large, beautiful eyes, they might have been the 
models of Murillo's beggars. 

We dined at Tirano, in a hotel which once had been 
a monastery, whose spacious rooms — very comfortable 
" cells " indeed ! — and ample cellars for their wines, and 
large open court, surrounded with covered arches, where 
the good fathers could rest in the heat of the day — 
showed that these old monks, though so intent on the 
joys of the next world, were not whoUy indifferent to 
the " creature comforts " of this. Night brought us to 
Sondrio, where in a spacious inn, which we remember 

nth satisfaction after our long rides, we slept the sleep 

i innocence and peace. 



180 THE TYKOL AND LAKE COMO. 

And now we are fairly entered into Italy. The 
mountains are behind us, and the lakes are before us. 
Another day brought us to Lake Como, and it was a 
relief to exchange our ride in a dihgence along a hot 
and dusty road for a sail over this most enchanting 
of Italian, I might almost say of European, lakes ; for 
after seeing many in different countries, it seems to me 
that this is " better than all the waters " of Scotland or 
Switzerland. It is a daughter of the Alps, lying at their 
feet, fed by their snows, and reflecting their giant forms 
in its placid bosom. And here on its shores we have 
pitched our tent to rest for ten days. For three months 
we have been travelHng ahnost without stopping, some- 
times, to avoid the heat, riding aU night — as from 
Amsterdam to Hambxirg, and from Prague to Vienna. 
The last week, though very delightful, has been one of 
great fatigue, as for four days in succession we rode 
twelve or thirteen hours a day in a carriage or diligence. 
After being thus jolted and knocked about, we are quite 
willing to rest. Nature is very weU, but it is a pleasant 
change once in a while to return to civilization ; to have 
the luxury of a bath, and to sleep quietly in our beds, 
like Christians, instead of racing tip and down in the 
earth, as if haunted by an evil spirit. And so we have 
decided to " come apart and rest awhile," before start- 
ing on another campaign. 

And here is the loveliest spot that ever a tired mortal 
chose to pUlow his weary head. To any who are coming 
abroad for a summer, and wish for a place of rest, I 
recommend this quiet retreat. Cadenabbia ! The very 
name hath a pleasant sound. The mountains are round 
us to shut out the world, and the gentle waters ripple at 
our feet. We do not spend the time in making excur- 
sions, for in this balmy air it is a sufficient luxury to 
exist. 1 am now writing at a table under an avenue 



THE TYROL ANB LAKE COMO. 181 

of fine old trees, wliicli stretch along the lake to the 
Villa Carlotta, a princely residence, which belongs to a 
niece of the Emperor of Germany, where oranges and 
lemons are growing in the open air, and hang in clusters 
over our heads, and where one may pick from the trees 
figs and pomegranates. Here we sit in a paradise of 
beauty, and send our loving thoughts to friends over 
the sea. 

And then, if tired of the shore, we have but to step 
into one of the boats lying in front of the hotel, from 
which strong-armed rowers are ready to take us any- 
where. Across the lake, which is here but two miles 
wide, is Bellaggio, with its great hotels along the water, 
and its numerous villas peering out from the dense 
foliage of trees. How they glow in the last rays of the 
sunset, and how brilliant the lights along the shore at 
evening ! Sometimes we go among the hotels in search of 
friendly American names. But more commonly we sail 
up and down for the pleasure of the motion, now creeping 
along by the shore, under the shadow of the mountains, 
and now "launching out into the deep," and resting, 
as if becalmed, in the middle of the lake. We do not 
want to go anywhere, but only to float and dream. 
Row gently, boatman ! Softly and slowly ! Lentissimo ! 
Hush, there is music on the shore. We stop and listen : 

" My soul was an enchanted boat, 
That like a sleeping swan did float, 
Upon the waves of that sweet singing." 

But better than music or the waters is the heaven that 
is above the waters, and that is reflected in the tranquil 
bosom of the lake. Leaning back on the cushioned seat, 
we look up to the stars as old friends, as they are the 
only objects that we recognize in the heavens above or 
the earth beneath. How we come to love any object 
that is familiar ! I cod f ess it is with a tender feeling that 



182 THE TYROL AITO LAKE COMO. 

I look up to constellations that have so often shone 
upon me in other lands, when other eyes looked up with 
mine. How sweet it is, wherever we go, to have at least 
one object that we have seen before ; one face that is 
not strange to us, the same on land or sea, in Europe 
and America. In oirr travels I have learned to look 
up to the stars as the most constant friends. They are 
the only things in nature that remain faithful. The 
mountains change as we move from country to country. 
The rivers know us not as they glide away swiftly to the 
sea. But the stars are always the same. The same con- 
stellations glow in the heavens to-night that shone on 
Julius Caesar when he led his legions through these 
mountains to conquer the tribes of Germany. Csesar is 
gone, and sixty generations since, but Orion and Pleiades 
remain. The same stars are here that shone on Beth- 
lehem when Christ was born ; the same that now shine 
in distant lands on holy graves ; and that will look down 
with pitying eyes on our graves when we are gone. 
Blessed lights in the heavens, to illumine the darkness of 
our earthly existence ! Are they not the best witnesses 
for an Almighty Creator, 

" Forever singing as they sMne, 
The hand that made us is Divine." 

He who hath set His bow in the cloud, hath set in the 
firmament that is above the cloud, these everlasting signs 
of His own faithfulness. Who that looks up at that mid- 
night sky can doubt His care and love, as he reads these 
unchanging memorials of an unchanging God ? 



CHAPTEE XVin. 

THE CITY IN THE SEA. 

It was with real regret that we left Lake Como, where 
we had passed ten very quiet but very happy days. But 
all things pleasant must have an end, and so on Monday 
morning we departed. Steamers ply up and down the 
lake, but as none left at an hour early enough to connect 
with a train that reached Venice the same evening, we 
took a boat and were rowed to Lecco. It was a three 
houi's' pull for two strong men ; but as we left at half- 
past seven, the eastern mountains protected us from the 
heat of the sun, and we ghded swiftly along in their 
cool shadows. Not a breath of air ruffled the bosom of 
the lake. Everything in this parting view conspired to 
make us regret a scene of which we were taking a long 
farewell. 

At Lecco we came back to railroads, which we had 
not seen since the morning we left Munich for Ober- 
Ammergau, more than two weeks before, and were soon 
flying over a cultivated countr}^, where orchards of mul- 
beiTy trees (close-trimmed, so as to jdeld a second crop 
of leaves the same season) gave promise of the rich silks 
of Lombardy, and vines covered aU the terraced slopes 
of the hills. 

In the carriage with us was a good old priest, who 
was attached to St. Mark's in Venice, who gave us much 
information about the picturesque country through which 
we were passing. Here, where the land is smiling so 
peacefully, among these very hills, "rich with corn and 
wine," was fought the great battle in which Venice 
defeated Frederick Barbarossa, and thus saved the cause 
of Italian independence. 



184 THE CITI IN THE SEA. 

At Bergamo we struck the line from ISIilan to Venice, 
and "while waiting an hour for the express train, saun- 
tered off with the old priest into the town, which was 
just then alive with the excitement of its annual fair. 
The peasants had come in from all the country round — • 
men and women, boys and gu-ls — to enjoy a hoHday, 
bringing whateyer they had to seU, and seeking what- 
ever they had to buy. One might imagine that he was 
in an old-fashioned "cattle-show" at home. Farmers 
had brought young colts which they had raised for the 
market, and some of the brawny fellows, with broad- 
brimmed hats, answered to the drovers one may see in 
Kansas, who have driven the immense herds of cattle 
from Texas. In another part of the grounds were 
exposed for sale the dehcate fabrics and rich colors which 
tempt the eye of woman ; silks and scarfs and shawls, 
with many of the sex, young and old, looking on with 
eager eyes. And there were sports for the childi-en. A 
merry-go-round picked up its load of little creatures, 
who, mounted on wooden horses, were wliirled about to 
their infinite delight at a penny apiece — a great deal of 
happiness for very Httle money. And there were aU 
sorts of shows going on — little enclosures, where some- 
thing wonderful was to be seen, the presence of which 
was announced by the beating of a drum ; and a big 
tent with a circus, which from the English names of the 
performers may have been a strolling company from the 
British Islands, or possibly from America ! It would be 
strange indeed, if a troupe of Yankee riders and jumpers 
had come all the way to Italy, to make the coTintry folk 
stare at their surprising feats. And there was a menag- 
erie, which one did not need to enter : for the wild 
beasts painted on the outside of the canvas were no 
doubt much more ferocious and terrible to behold thaji 



THE CITY IN THE SEA. 185 

the subdued and lamb-like creatures witlim. Is not a 
country fair the same thing all over the world ? 

At length the train came rushing up, and stopping 
but a moment for passengers, dashed off like a race- 
horse over the great plain of Lombardy. But we must 
not go so fast as to overlook this historic ground. Sud- 
denly, like a sheet of silver, unroUs before us the broad 
surface of the Lago di Garda, the greatest of the Italian 
lakes, stretching far into the plain, but with its head 
resting against the background of the Tyrolean Alps. 
What memories gather about these places from the old 
Eoman days 1 On yonder Peninsula in the lake, Catullus 
wrote his poems ; in Mantua, a few miles to the south, 
Virgil was bom ; while in Verona an amphitheatre 
remains in excellent preservation, which is second only 
to the CoHseum. In events of more recent date this 
region is full of interest. We are now in the heart of 
the famous Quadrilateral, the Four Great Fortresses, 
built to overawe as well as defend Upper Italy. All this 
ground was fought over by the First Napoleon in his 
Italian campaigns ; while near at hand is the field of 
Solferino, where under Napoleon Third a French army, 
with that of Victor Emmanuel, finally conquered the 
independence of Italy. 

More peaceful memories linger about Padua, whose 
University, that is over six hundred years old, was long 
one of the chief seats of learning in Europe, within 
whose walls Galileo studied ; and Tasso and Ariosto and 
Petrarch ; and the reformer and martyr Savonarola. 

But all these places sink in interest, as just at evening 
we reach the end of the main land, and passing over the 
long causeway which crosses the Lagune, find ourselves 
in Venice. It seems very prosaic to enter Venice by a 
raOroad, but the prose ceases and the poetry begins the 
instant we emerge from the station, for the marble steps 



186 THE CITY IN THE SEA. 

descend to the water, and instead of stepping into a 
carriage we step into a gondola ; and as we move off 
we leave behind the firm ground of ordinary experience, 
and our imagination, Hke oior persons, is afloat. Every- 
thing is strange and unreal. We are in a great city, and 
yet we cannot put our feet to the ground. There is no 
sound of carriages rattling over the stony streets, for 
there is not a horse in Venice. We cannot realize where 
and what we are. The impression is greatly heightened 
in arriving at night, for the canals are but dimly lighted, 
and darkness adds to the mystery of this city of silence. 
Now and then we see a light in a window, and a figure 
leans from a balcony ; and we hear the plashing of oars 
as a gondola shoots by ; but these occasional signs of 
life only deepen the impression of loneliness, till it seems 
as if we were in a world of ghosts — nay, to be ghosts 
oiu:selves, and to be gliding throiigh misty shapes and 
shadows ; as if we had touched the black waters of 
Death, and the silent Oarsman himself were guiding our 
boat to his gloomy realm. Thus sunk in reverie, we 
floated along the watery streets, past the Rialto, and 
under the Bridge of Sighs, to the Hotel Danieli on the 
Grand Canal, just behind the Palace of the Doges. 

When the morning broke, and we could see things 
about us in plain daylight, we set ourselves, Hke dutiful 
travellers, to see the sights, and now in a busy week 
have come to know something of Venice ; to feel that 
it is not familiar ground, but familiar water, famUiar 
canals and bridges, and churches and palaces. We have 
been up on the Campanile, and looked down upon the 
city, as it lies spread out like a map under the eye, with 
all its islands and its waters ; and we have sailed round 
it and through it, going down to the Lido, and looking 
off upon the Adriatic ; and then coursing about the 
Lagune, and up and down the Grand Canal and the 



THE CITY IN THE SEA. 187 

Giudecca, and through many of the smaller canals, 
which intersect the city in every direction. We have 
visited the church of St. Mark, rich with its colored mar- 
bles and mosaics, and richer still in its historic memo- 
ries ; the Palace where the Doges reigned ; and the 
church where they are buried, the Westminster A.bbey 
of Venice, where the rulers of many generations lie 
together in their royal house of death ; we have visited 
the Picture Galleries, and seen the paintings of Titian 
and the statues of Canova ; and looked on the marble 
tombs in the church of the Frati, where sleep these two 
masters of different centuries. Thus we have tried to 
weave together the artistic, the architectural, and the 
historical glories of this wonderful city. 

There is no city in Europe about which there is so 
much of romance as Venice, and of real romance (if that 
be not a contradiction), that is, of romance founded on 
reality, for indeed the reality is stranger than fiction. 
Its very aspect dazzles the eye, as the traveller approaches 
from the east, and sees the morning sun reflected from 
its domes and towers. It seems like an apparition, 
when he reflects that aU that glittering splendor rests 
on the unsubstantial sea, from which it rises, like a 
gigantic sea-flower, and spreads a kind of tropical bloom 
over the far-shining expanse around it. 

The history of Venice is as strange and marvellous 
as any tale of the Arabian Nights. It is the wildest 
romance turned into reality. This is the oldest State 
in Europe. The proudest modern empires are but of 
yesterday compared with it. When Britain was a howl- 
ing wilderness ; when London and Paris were insignifi- 
cant towns ; the Queen of the Adriatic was in the height 
of its glory. Macaulay says the Republic of Venice is 
next in antiquity to the Church of Rome. He places 
it before aU the kingdoms of Europe, being antedated 



188 THE CITY IN THE SEA, 

only by that hoary Ecclesiastical Dominion, which (as he 
writes so eloquently in his celebrated review of Ranke's 
History of the Popes) began to Uve before the roaming 
barbarians crystallized into nations ; and may endure 
tiU that famous New Zealander "shall take his stand, 
in the midst of a vast solitude, on a broken arch of 
London Bridge, to sketch the ruins of St. Paul's ! " 

And this history, dating so far back, is connected 
with monuments stiU standing, which recall it vividly 
to the modern traveller. The church of St. Mark is a 
whole volume in itself. It is one of the oldest churches 
in the world, boasting of having under its altar the very 
bones of St. Mark, and behind it alabaster columns from 
the Temple of Solomon, while over its ancient portal the 
four bronze horses still stand proudly erect, which date 
at least from the time of Nero, and are perhaps the work 
of a Grecian sculptor who Hved before the birth of 
Christ. And the Palace of the Doges — is it not a his- 
tory of centuries written in stone ? What grand specta- 
cles it has witnessed in the days of Venetian splendor ! 
What pomp and glory have been gathered witliin its 
walls ! And what deliberations have been carried on in 
its council chambers ; what deeds of patriotism have 
been there conceived, and what conspiracies and what 
crimes ! And the Prison behind it, with the Bridge of 
Sighs leading to it, does not every stone in that gloomy 
pile have a history written in blood and tears ? 

But the part of Venice in European history was not 
only a leading one for more than a thousand years, but 
a noble one ; it took the foremost place in European 
civilization, which it preserved after the barbarians had 
overrun the Roman Empke. The Middle Ages would 
have been Dark Ages indeed but for the light thrown 
into them by the Italian RejDublics. It was after the 
Roman Empire had fallen under the battle-axes ol the 



THE CITY IN THE SEA. 189 

German barbaiians that the ancient Veneti took refuge 
on these low-lying islands, finding a defence in the sur- 
rounding waters, and here began to build a city in the 
sea. Its position at the head of the Adriatic was favor- 
able for commerce, and it soon drew to itself the rich 
trade of the East. It sent out its ships to all parts of 
the Mediterranean, and even beyond the PiUars of Her- 
cules. And so, century after century, it grew in power 
and splendor, till it was the greatest maritime city in 
the world. It was the lord of the waves, and in sign of 
its supremacy, it was married to the sea with great pomp 
and magnificence. In the Arsenal is shown the model 
of the Bucentaur, that gilded barge in which the Doge 
and the Senate were every year canied down the harbor, 
and dropping a ring of gold and gems (large as one of 
those huge door-knockers that in former days gave dig- 
nity to the portals of great mansions) into the waves, 
signified the marriage of Venice to the sea.* It was the 
contrast of this display of power and dominion with the 
later decline of Venetian commerce, that suggested the 
melancholy line, 

" The spouseless Adriatic mourns her lord." 

But then Venice was as much mistress of the sea as 
England is to-day. She sat at the gates of the Orient, 
and 

" The gorgeous East with richest hand 
Showered upon her barbaric pearl and gold." 

Then rose on aU her islands and her waters those struc- 
tures which are to this day the wonder of Eiirope. The 
Grand Canal, which is nearly two miles long, is lined 

* Lest any of my saving countrymen should think this a sacrifice 
of precious jewels, it should be added that the cunning old Venetians, 
with a prudent economy worthy of a Yankee housekeeper, instead of 
wasting their treasures on the sea, dropped the glittering bauble into 
a net carefully spread for the purpose, in which it was fished up, to 
be used in the ceremonies of successive years. 



190 THE CITY IN THE SEA. 

with palaces, such as no modem capital can approach in 
costliness and splendor. 

And this power was used for a defence to Christen- 
dom and to civilization, the former against the Turks, 
and the latter against Northern barbarians. When 
Frederick Barbarossa came down with his hordes upon 
Italy, he found his most stubborn enemy in the Repubhc 
of Venice, which kept up the contest for more than 
twenty years, till the fierce old Emperor acknowledged a 
power that was invincible, and here in Venice, in the 
Church of St. Mark, knelt before the Pope Alexander 
m. (who represented, not Rome against Protestantism, 
but Italian independence against German oppression), 
and gave his humble submission, and made peace with 
the States of Italy which, thanks to the heroic resistance 
of Venice, he could not conquer. 

Hardly was this long contest ended before the power 
of Venice was turned against the Turks in the East. 
Venetians, aided by French crusaders, and led by a 
warrior whose courage neither age nor bhndness could 
restrain (" Oh for one hour of bhnd old Dandolo ! "), 
captured Constantinople, and Venetian ships saUing up 
and down the Bosphorus kept the conquerors of Western 
Asia from crossing into Europe, The Turks finally 
passed the straits and took Constantinople ; but the 
struggle of the Cross and the Crescent, as in Spain 
between the Spaniard and the Moor, was kept up over a 
hundred years longer, and was not ended tiU the battle 
of Lepanto in 1571. In the Arsenal they still preserve 
the flag of the Turkish admiral captured on that great 
day, with its motto in Arabic, "There is no G-od but 
God, and Mohammed is his prophet ! " Now that the 
danger is so long past, we can hardly realize how great a 
victory for Christendom and for civilization was won on 
that dav when the scattered wrecks of the Turkish 



THE CITY lU THE SEA. 191 

Armada sank in the blood-dyed waters of the GuJf of 
Corinth. These are glorious memories for Venice, which 
justify the praise of historians, and make the splendid 
eulogy of Byron as true to history as it is beautiful in 
poetry. In Venice, as on the Rhine, I have found Childe 
Harold the best guide-book, as the poet paints a picture 
in a few lines, as the artist does by a few strokes. 
Never did Canaletto present to the eye a picture more 
distinct than this : 

I stood in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs, 
A palace and a prison on each hand, 
I saw from out the waves her structures rise, 
As hy the stroke of the enchanter's wand, 
A thousand years their cloudy wings expand 
Around me, and a dying glory smiles 
O'er the far times when many a suhject land 
Looked to the winged lion's marhle piles, 
Where Venice sat in state, throned on her hundred isles. 

But poets are apt to look at things only in a poetical 
light, and to admire and to celebrate, or to mourn, 
according to their fancies, rather than according to the 
sober prose of history. The picture of the magnificence 
of Venice is true to the letter, for indeed no language 
can surpass the splendid reality. But when the poet 
goes farther and laments the loss of its independence, as 
a loss to liberty and to the world, the student of history 
will draw the line. That he should mourn its sub- 
jection, or that of any part of Italy, to a foreign power, 
whether Austria or France, we can well understand. 
And this was perhaps his only real sorrow — a manly and 
patriotic grief — but at times he seems to go farther, and 
to regret the old gorgeous mediseval state. Here we 
cannot foUow him. Poetry is well, and romance is well, 
but truth is better ; and the truth, as history records it, 
must be confessed, that Venice, though in name a repub- 
lic, was as great a despotism as any in the Middle Ages. 



192 THE CITY IN THE SEA. 

The people liad no power whatever. It was all in the 
hands of the nobles, some five hundred of whom com- 
posed the Senate, and elected the famous Council of 
Ten, by which, with the Senate, was chosen the Council 
of Three, who were the real masters of Venice. The 
Doge, who was generally an old man, was a mere puppet 
in their hands, a venerable figure-head of the State, to 
hide what was done by younger and more resolute wills. 
The Council of Three were the real Dictators of the 
Repubhc, and the Tribunal of the Inquisition itself was 
not more mysterious or more terrible. By some secret 
mode of election the names of those who composed this 
CouncU were not known even to their associates in the 
Senate or in the Council of Ten. They constituted a 
secret and therefore wholly irresponsible tribunal. Their 
names were concealed, so that they cotdd act in the 
dark, and at their will strike down the loftiest head. 
Once indeed their vengeance struck the Doge himself. 
I have had in my hands the very sword which cut off the 
head of Marino Faliero more than five hundred years 
ago. It is a tremendous weapon, and took both hands 
to Hft it, and must have fallen upon that princely neck 
like an axe upon the block. But commonly their power 
fell on meaner victims. The whole system of govern- 
ment was one of terror, kept up by a secret espionage 
which penetrated every man's household, and struck 
mortal fear into every heart. The government invited 
accusations. The " Uon's mouth " in the Doge's palace 
was always open, and if a charge against one was thrown 
into it, instantly he was arrested and brought before this 
secret tribunal, by which he might be tried, condemned, 
sentenced, and executed, without his family knowing 
what had become of him, with only horrible suspicions 
to account for his mysterious disappearance. 

In going through the Palace of the Doges one is 



THE CITY IN THE SEA. 133 

struck witli the gorgeousness of the old Venetian State. 
All that is magnificent in architecture, and all that is 
splendid in decoration, carving, and gilding, spread with 
lavish hand over walls and doors and ceiling ; with every 
open space or panel iUumined by paintings of Titian or 
some other of the old Venetian masters — are combined 
to render this more than a royal house, since it is richer 
than the palaces of kings. 

But before any young enthusiast allows his imagina- 
tion to run away with him, let him explore this Palace 
of the Doges a little farther. Let him go into the Hall 
of the Council of Three, and observe how it connects 
conveniently by a little stair with the Hall of Torture, 
where innocent persons could soon be persuaded to 
accuse themselves of deadly crimes ; and how it opens 
into a narrow passage, through which the condemned 
passed to swift execution. Then let him go down into 
the dungeons, worse than death, where the accused were 
buried in a living tomb. Byron himself, in a note to 
Childe Harold, has given the best answer to his own 
lamentation over the fall of the Republic of Venice.* 

* The note is on the opening lines of the fourth Canto : 

" I stood in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs, 
A palace and a prison on each hand," 

—in explanation of which the poet says : 

"The communication between the ducal palace and the prisons of 
Venice is by a gloomy bridge, or covered gallery, high above the 
water, and divided by a stone wall into a passage and a cell. The 
State dungeons, called 'pozzi,' or wells, were sunk into the thick 
walls of the palace ; and the prisoner, when taken out to die, was 
conducted across the gallery to the other side, and being then led 
back into the other compartment or cell upon the bridge, was there 
strangled. Tho low portal through which the criminal was taken 
into this cell is now walled up ; but the passage is still open, and is 
still known as the Bridge of Sighs. The pozzi are under the flooring 
of the chamber at the foot of the bridge. They were formerly twelve, 
but on the first arrival of the French, the Venetians blocked or broke 
ap the deeper of these dungeons. You may still, however, descend by 



194 THE CITY IN THE SEA. 

We shall therefore waste no tears over the fall of the 
old Republic of Venice, even though it had existed for 
thirteen hundred years. In its day it had acted a great 
part in European history, and had often served the 
cause of progress, when it preserved Christendom from 
the Turks, and civilization from the Barbarians. But it 
had accomphshed its end, and its time had come to die ; 
and though the poet mourns that 

In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more, 
And silent rows the songless gondolier, 

yet in the changes which have come, an old state of 
things has passed away, to be succeeded by a better. 
Even the spirit of Byron would be satisfied, coidd he 
open his eyes now, and see Venice rid at last of a for- 
eign yoke, and restored to her rightful place, as a part 
of free and united Italy. 

Though the city looks just as it did when I was 
here seventeen years ago, I observe one difference ; the 
flag that is flying from aU the public buildings is not the 
same. Then the black eagles of Austria hovered over 
the Square of St. Mark ; and as we sat there in the sum- 
mer evening, Austrian ofl&cers were round us, in front of 
the cafes, and the music was by an Austrian band. Now 
there is music stiU, and on summer nights the old Piazza 

a trap-door, and crawl down througli holes, half-choked by rubbish, 
to the depth of two stories below the first range. If you are in want 
of consolation for the extinction of patrician power, perhaps you may 
find it there ; scarcely a ray of light glimmers into the narrow gallery 
which leads to the cells, and the places of confinement themselves are 
totally dark. A small hole in the wall admitted the damp air of the 
passages, and served for the introduction of the prisoner's food. A 
wooden pallet, raised a foot from the ground, was the only furniture. 
The conductor tells you that a light was not allowed. The cells are 
about five paces in length, two and a half in width, and seven feet 
in height. They are directly beneath one another, and respiration is 
somewhat difficult in the lower holes. Only one prisoner was found 
when the Republicans descended into these hideous recesses, and he 
is said to have been confined sixteen years." 



THE CITY IN THE SEA. 195 

is thronged as ever ; but I hear another language in ihe 
groups — the hated foreigner, with his bayonets, is not 
here. The people breathe freely, and political and 
national life revives in the air of hberty. 

Yenice is beginning to have also a return of its com- 
mercial prosperity. Of course it can never again be 
the mistress of the sea, as other great commercial states 
have sprung up beyond the Mediterranean. The glory 
of Venice culminated about the year 1500. Eight years 
before that date, an Italian sailor — though not a Vene- 
tian, but a Genoese — had discovered, lying beyond the 
western main, a New World. In less than four centu- 
ries, the commerce which had flourished on the Adriatic 
was to pass to England, and that other English Empire 
still more remote. Venice can never regain her former 
supremacy. Civilization has passed, and left her stand- 
ing in the sea. But though she can never again take 
the lead of other nations, she may still have a happy 
and a prosperous future. There is the commerce of the 
Mediterranean, for which, as before, she holds a com- 
manding position at the head of the Adriatic. Yonder 
steamer lying in the Grand Canal, in front of our hotel, 
is the Delhi, and is, as its name imports, bound for India ! 

One thing every friend of Venice and Italy may be 
allowed to hope — that its policy wiU be one of peace. 
In the Arsenal we found models of ironclads and other 
ships of war, built or building ; but were glad to hear 
the naval officer who showed them to us confess (though 
he did it with a tone of regTet) that their navy was not 
large compared with other European navies, and that the 
Government was not doing much to increase it, though 
it is building dry docks here in Venice, and occasionally 
adds a ship to the fleet. But what does Italy want of a 
great navy ? or a great army ? They eat up the sub- 
stance of the country ; and it has no money to waste on 



196 THE CITY IN THE SEA. 

needless armaments. Besides, Italy lias no enemy to 
fear, for both France and Germany are friendly ; to 
France she owes the dehverance of Lombardy, and to 
Germany that of Venice. Even Austria is reconciled. 
Recently the Emperor came here on a visit, and was 
received with all the pomp of the ancient days. 

The future of Venice and Italy is not in war, but in 
peace. Venice has had enough of conflicts on land and 
sea. She can now afibrd to hve on this rich inheritance 
of g'loiy. Let her cherish the memory of the heroic days 
of old, but let her not tempt fortune by venturing again 
into the smoke of battle. Let her keep in her Ai'senal 
the captiu'ed flags taken from the Tiu-ks at Lepanto ; let 
the three tall masts of cedar, erected in the Square of 
St. Mark nearly four hundred years ago, to commemorate 
the conqiiest of Cyprus, Candia, and Morea, still stand 
as historical mementoes of the past ; but it is no sacrifice 
of pride that they no longer bear the banners of con- 
quered provinces, since from theii' lofty and graceful 
heads now floats the flag of one undivided Ital^'. 

As for the arms of Venice, the winged lion of St. 
Mai'k may yet be exchanged for the doves which equally 
belong to Venice, and form not only one of its prettiest 
sights, but one connected with historical associations, 
that make them fit emblems both of peace and of victory. 
The story is that at the siege of Candia, in the begin- 
ning of the Thii-teenth centuiy. Admiral Dandolo had 
intelligence brought to him by carrier-pigeons which 
helped him to take the island, and that he used the same 
swift-'^inged heralds to send the news to "Venice. And 
fi'om that day to this they have been protected, and been 
the pets of Venice for six hundred years ! They are 
perfectly at home, and build their nests on the roofs and 
under the eaves of the houses, even on the Doge's Palace 
and the Church of St. Mark. Not the swallow, but the 



THE CITY IN THE SEA. 197 

dove hath found a nest for herself on the house of the 
Lord. I see them nestling together on the Bridge of 
Sighs, thinking not of all the broken hearts that have 
passed over that gloomy arch. A favorite perch at 
evening is the heavy cross-bars of the prison-windows ; 
there they sleep peacefully, where lonely captives have 
looked up to the dim light, and sighed in vain for lib- 
erty. From all these nooks and corners they flock into 
the great square in the day-time, and walk about quite 
undistxirbed. It has been one of our pleasures to go 
there with bread in oui' hands to feed them. At the first 
sight of the scattered crumbs, they come fluttering down 
from the buildings round, running over each other in 
their eagerness, coming up to my feet, and eating out of 
my hand. Beautiful creatures — the emblems of peace 
and the messengers of victory — they might be wrought 
as an armorial bearing on the flag of the new Italy — 
white doves on a blue ground, as if flying over the sea — 
their outspread wings the fit emblems of those sails of 
commerce, which may again go flying over the waves, 
from Venice and from Genoa, not only to all parts of 
the Mediterranean, but to the most distant shores I 



CHAPTEE XIX. 

MILAN AND GENOA. — A EIDE OVER THE COENICHE EOAD. 

The new life of Italy is apparent in its cities more 
than in the country. A change of government does not 
change the face of nature. The hills that bear the olive 
and the vine, were as fresh and green under the rule of 
Austria as they are now under Victor Emmanuel. But 
in the cities and large towns I see a marked change, both 
in the places themselves, and in the manner and spirit of 
the people. The depression showed itself in their very 
countenances, which had a hopeless and sullen look. 
Now this is gone. The Austrians have retired behind 
the mountains of the Tyrol, and Italy at last is free from 
the Alps to the Adriatic. The moral effect of such a 
pohtical change is seen in the rebound from a state of 
despair to one of animation and hope. When a people 
are free, they have courage to attempt works of improve- 
ment, knowing that what they do is not for the benefit of 
foreign masters, but for themselves and their children. 
Hence the new life which I see in the streets of Milan 
and Genoa. Everywhere improvements are going on. 
They are tearing down old houses, and building new 
ones ; opening new streets and squares, and levelling old 
walls, that wide boulevards may take their place. In 
Milan they were clearing away blocks of houses in front 
of the Duomo, to form an open square, to give it an 
ample foreground ; and were just finishing a grand 
Arcade, with an arched roof of iron and glass, like the 
Crystal Palace, beneath which are long rows of shops, as 
well as wide open spaces, where the people may gather 
in crowds, secure from heat and cold, from the rains of 
summer and the snows of winter. The Emperor of 



MILAN AND GENOA. 199 

Germany, wlio is about to pay a visit to Italy, will find in 
]\Iilan a city not so large indeed, but certainly not less 
beautiful, than kis own northern capital. 

One beauty it has which Berlin can never have — its 
Cathedral. If I had not exhausted my epithets of admi- 
ration on the Cathedrals of Strasburg and Cologne, I 
might attempt a description of that of Milan ; but 
indeed all words seem feeble beside the reality. One 
contrast to the German Cathedrals is its light exterior. 
It is buUt of marble, which under an ItaUan sky has pre- 
served its whiteness, and hence it has not the cold gray 
of those Northern Minsters blackened by time. Nor has 
it the same majesty of height. In place of one or two 
mighty towers, standing solitary and sublime, its but- 
tresses along the sides shoot up into as many separate 
pinnacles, surmounted by statues, which, as they gleam 
in the last raj's of sunset, or under the full moon, seem 
like angelic sentinels ranged along the heavenly battle- 
ments. These details of the exterior draw away the eye 
from the vastness of the structure as a whole, which only 
bursts upon us as we enter within. There we recognize 
its immensity in the remoteness of objects. A man looks 
very small at the other end of the church. Service may 
be going on at half a dozen side chapels without attract- 
ing attention, except as we hear chanting in the distance; 
and the eye swims in looking up at the vaulted roof. 
Behind the choir, three lofty windows of rich stained 
glass cast a soft light on the vast interior. If I lived in 
Milan, I should haunt that Cathedral, since it is a spot 
where one may always be alone, as if he were in the 
depths of the forest, and have his thoughts undisturbed. 

There is another church, of more humble propor- 
tions, which has a great historical interest, that of St. 
Ambrose, the author of the Te Deum, " We praise Thee, 
O God, we acknowledge Thee to be the Lord," through 



200 MILAN AND GENOA. 

which he has led the worship of all the generations since 
his day. Another immortal gift of St. Ambrose to the 
Church was his convert St. Augustine, the greatest of the 
Fathers, whose massive theology has been the study alike 
of Catholics and Protestants — of Bossuet and Luther 
and Calvin. 

Near the Church of St. Ambrose one may still see the 
fading outlines of the great work of Leonardo da Vinci — 
the Last Supper — painted on the walls of the refectory 
of an old monastery, where it has had all sorts of bad 
usage till it has been battered out of shape, but where 
Christ still sits in the midst of His disciples, looking with 
tender and loving eyes round on that circle which He 
should not meet again till He had passed through His 
great agony. The mutilation of such a work is a loss to 
the world, but it is partly repaired by the many excellent 
copies, and by the admirable engravings, in which it has 
been reproduced. 

From Milan to Genoa is only a ride of five hours, and 
we are once more by the sea. One must be a dull trav- 
eller who does not feel a thrill as he emerges from a long 
tunnel and sees before him the Mediterranean. There 
it lies — the Mare Magnum of the ancients, which to 
those who knew not the oceans as we know them, 
seemed vast and measureless ; "the great and wide sea," 
of which the Psalmist wrote ; towards which the prophet 
looked from Mount Carmel, till he descried rising out of 
it a cloud like a man's hand ; the sea " whose shores are 
empires," round which the civilization of the world has 
revolved for thousands of years, passing from Eg}-pt to 
Greece, to Rome, to France and Spain, but always lin- 
gering, whether on the side of Europe or Africa, some- 
where along that enchanted coast. 

Here is Genoa — Genoa Superba, as they named her 
centuries ago — that still sits like a queen upon the 



A RIDE OVER THE CORNICHE ROAD. 201 

waters, as she looks down so proudly from her amphi- 
theatre of hills upon the bay at her feet. Genoa with 
Venice divided the maritime supremacy of the Middle 
Ages, when her prows were seen in all parts of the 
Mediterranean. The glory of those days is departed, 
but, hke Venice, her prosperity is reviving under the 
influence of hberty. To Americans the chief interest of 
Genoa will always be that here was born Christopher 
Columbus, the discoverer of the New World, whose 
monument greets us in the first public square as we 
enter the city. 

Genoa is a convenient point from which to take an 
excursion over one of the most famous roads in Eiirope, 
the "Corniche," ninning along the coast of the Medi- 
terranean, as far west as Nice. A railroad now follows 
the same route, but as it passes through a hundred tun- 
nels, more or less, the traveller is half the time buried in 
the earth. The only way to see the fuU beauty of this 
road is to take a carriage and drive over it, so as to 
get all the points of view. The whole excvursion would 
take several days. To economize our time we went by 
rail from Genoa to San Remo, where the most pictur- 
esque pait of the road begins, and from there took a 
basket carriage with two spirited ponies to diive to 
Nice, a good day's journey over the mountains. The 
day was fair, not too hot nor too cool. The morning 
air was exhilarating, as we began oiu* ride along the 
shore, winding in and out of all the little bays, sweeping 
round the promontories that jut into the sea, and then 
climbing high up on the spurs of the mountains, which 
here slope quite down to the coast, from which they take 
the name of the Maritime Alps. The special beauty of 
the "Riviera " is that it Lies between the mountains and 
the sea. The hiUs, which rise from the very shore, are 
covered, not with vines, but with olives — a tree which 



202 



mLAN AND GENOA. 



with its pale gray leaves, somewliat like the willow, is 
not very attractive to the eye, especially when withered 
by the fierce summer's heat, and covered with the sum- 
mer's dust. There has been no rain for two months, 
and the whole land is burnt like a furnace. The leaves 
are scorched as with the breath of a sirocco. But when 
the autumn rains descend, we can well believe that all 
this barrenness is turned into beauty, as these slopes are 
then green, both with olive and with orange groves. 

In the recesses cf the hills are many sheltered spots^. 
protected from the northern winds, and open to the 
southern sun, which are the favorite resorts of invalids 
for the winter, as here sun and sea combine to give 
a softened air like that of a perpetual spring. When 
winter rages over the north of Europe ; when snow 
covers the open country, and even drifts in the streets of 
great capitals ; then it seems as if sunshine and summer 
retreated to the shores of the MediteiTanean, and here 
Ungered among the orange gardens that look out from 
the terraced slopes upon the silver sea. The warm 
south wind from African deserts tempers the fierceness 
of the northern blasts. And not only invalids, but peo- 
ple of wealth and fashion, who have the command of all 
countries and climates, and who have only to choose 
where to spend the winter with least of discomfort and 
most of luxury and pleasure, flock to these resorts. 
Last winter the Empress of Russia took up her quarters 
at San Eemo, to inhale the balmy air — a simple luxury, 
which she could not find in her palace at St. Petersburg. 
And Prince Amadeus, son of the king of Italy, who him- 
self wore a crown for a year, occupied a villa near by, 
and found here a tranquil happiness which he could 
never find on the troubled throne of Spain. A still 
greater resort than San Eemo is Mentone, which for the 
winter months is turned into an English colony, with a 



A EIDB OVEE THE COENICHE KOAD. 203 

sprinkling of Americans, wlio altogether form a society 
of their own, and thus enjoy, along with this delicious 
climate, the charms of their English and American life. 
It is a pity that there should be a serpent in this gar- 
den of Paradise. But here he is-^a huge green monster, 
twining among the flowers and the orange groves! Mid- 
way between Mentone and Nice is the little principality 
of Monaco, the smallest sovereignty in Europe, covering 
only a rocky peninsula that projects into the sea, and 
a small space round it. But small as it is, it is large 
enough to furnish a site for a pest worse than a laza- 
retto — worse than the pirates of the Barbary coast that 
once preyed on the commerce of the Mediterranean — 
for here is the greatest gambling house in Europe! 
The famous — or infamous — establishments that so long 
flourished on the Rhine, at Homburg and Baden Baden, 
drawing hundreds and thousands into their whirlpools 
of ruin, have been broken up since the pettj principali- 
ties have been absorbed in the great German empire. 
Thus driven from one point to another, like the evil 
spirit, seeking rest and finding none, at last the gam- 
blers, by offering a large sum — reported to be four hun- 
dred thousand francs (eighty thousand dollars) a year — 
to the Prince of Monaco, have induced him to sell him- 
self to the Devil, and to allow his petty State to become 
a den of thieves. Having a natural curiosity to see 
this notorious establishment, we drove to Monte Carlo, 
which is the pretty name for a very bad place. Never 
was the palace of pleasure decked with more attractions- 
We enter a garden, with extensive grounds, where orange 
trees and palms are in full bloom. Winding walks con- 
duct the visitor to retired and shady retreats. The 
building itself is of stately proportions, and one goes up 
the steps as if he were ascending a temple. Within the 
broad vestibule servants in livery receive the stranger 



204 MILAN AND GENOA. 

with studied politeness, as a welcome guest, and with 
courtly smUes bow hin? in. The first sound that greets 
him is the music from a large assembly room for concerts 
and dancing. Entrance is free everywhere, except into 
the gaming-room, which requires your card as a proof 
of your respectability! One must give his name, and 
country, and profession ! So careful are they to have 
only the most select society ! 

I was directed to the office, where two secretaries, of 
sober aspect, who might be retired clergymen, inquired 
my name and jjrofession. I felt that I was getting on 
rather dangerous ground, but answered by giving only 
my surname and the profession of editor, and received 
a card of admission, and passed in. We were in a large 
hall, with lofty ceiling, and walls decorated in a style 
that might become an apartment in a royal palace. 
There were three tables, at two of which gaming was 
going on. At the third the gamblers sat around idle, 
waiting for customers, for business is rather slack just 
now, as the season has not begun. A few weeks later, 
when the hotels along the sea are filled up, the place 
will be thronged, and all these tables will be kept going 
till midnight. At the two where play was in progress, 
we stood apart and watched the scene. There was a 
long table, covered with green cloth, over which were 
scattered piles of gold and silver, and round which 
were some twenty-five persons, mostly men, though there 
were two or three women (some of the most infatuated 
and desperate gamblers at Baden Baden were women). 
The game was what is known as roulette or rouge et noir. 
[Perhaps roulette and rouge et noir are two separate 
games. I dare say my imperfect description would 
excite the smile of a professional, for I confess my total 
ignorance in such matters. I only describe what I saw.] 
You lay down a piece of coin, a napoleon or a sovereign, 



A HIDE OVER THE CORKICHE tJOAD. 205 

or, if you cannot afford that, a five-franc piece, for they 
are so deipocratic that they are wilhng to take the small 
change of the poor, as well as the hundred or thousand 
francs of the rich. The wager is that, when a horizon- 
tal wheel which is sunk in the table— the rouleUe — is set 
revolving, a little ball like a boy's marble, which is set 
whirling in it, will rest on the black or red spot. Of 
course the thing is so managed that the chances are 
many to one that you will lose your money. But it 
looks fair, and the greenhorn is easily persuaded that it 
is an even chance, and that he is as likely to win as to 
lose, until experience makes him a sadder and a wiser 
man. Of those about the table, it was quite apparent, 
even to my inexperienced eye, that the greater part were 
professional gamblers. There is a look about them that 
is unmistakable. My companion, who had looked on 
haK curious and half frightened, and who shrank up 
to my side (although everything is kept in such order, 
and with such an outward show of respectability, that 
there is no danger), remarked the imperturbable cool- 
ness of the players. The game proceeded in perfect 
silence, and no one betrayed the least emotion, whether 
he lost or won. But I explained to her that this 
was probably owing to the fact that they were mostly 
employes of the estabhshment, and had no real stake 
in the issue ; but if they were not, a practised gambler 
never betrays any emotion. This is a part of his trade. 
He schools himself to it as an Indian does, who scorns to 
show suffering, even if he is bound to the stake. I 
noticed only one man who seemed to take his losses to 
heart. I presumed he was an outsider, and as he lost 
heavily, his face flushed, but he said nothing. This is 
the general course of the game. Not a word is spoken, 
even when men are losing thousands. Instances have 
occurred in which a man has gambled away his last dollar, 



206 MIL.\N ANT) GENOA. 

and tJien risen from the table ami blown ont his brains, 
which internipted the play disap-eeably ibr a few 
moments ; but the body was removed, the blood washed 
away, and the game proceeded as usual. 

TMien we had watched the silent spectacle for half an 
hoiu-, we felt that we had quite enougli, and after stroll- 
ing tirrough the grounds and listening to the music, 
returned to our cai'riage and drove off, moralizing on the 
strange scene we had A^dtnessed. 

Did I regi-et that I had been to see this glittering 
form of temptation and sin '? On the contrary, I wished 
that every clergyman in New York could have stood 
there smd looked on at that scene. "We have had quite 
enough of firing at all kinds of wickedness at long range. 
It is time to move our batteries up a little neai'er, and 
engage the enemy at close qiToaters. If they had seen 
what we saw in tliat half hour, they would realize, as 
they cannot now, the dangers to which young men are 
exposed in our cities. They woiild see with their own 
eyes how broad is the road that leads to destruction, 
how alluring it is made, and how many there be that go 
in thereat. I look upon Monte Cju'Io as the very mouth 
of the pit, covered up with tiowers, so that giddy creat- 
nres dance along its perilous edge till it crumbles under 
their feet. Thousands who come here with no intention 
of gambhng, put down a small sum just to try their luck, 
and find that a fool and his money are soon pai'ted. 
Many do not end with losing a few francs, or even a few 
sovereigns. It is well if they do not leave behind them 
what they can ill afiord to lose. Many young men leave 
what is not their own. That such a place of temptation 
should be allowed to exist here in this lovely spot on the 
sliores of the Mediterranean, is a disgrace to IMonaco, 
and to the powers on both sides of it, Fi-ance and Italy, 
which, if they have no legal right to interfere, might by 



A BIDE OVER THE COENICHE EOAD. 207 

a vigorous protest put an end to the accursed thing. 
Probably it tvlII after a while provoke its ovrn destruc- 
tion. I should be glad to see the foul nest of gamblers 
broken up, and the wretches sent to the galleys as con- 
victs, or forced in some way to earn an honest living. 

But is not this vice of gambling very wide-spread ? 
Does it not exist in more forms than one, and in more 
countries than the little State of Monaco ? I am afraid 
the vice hes deep in human nature, and may be found in 
some shape in every part of the world. Is there not a 
great deal of gambling in Wall street? When men bet 
on the rise and fall of stocks ; when they sell what they 
do not possess ; or buy that for which they have no 
money to pay ; do they not risk their gains or losses on a 
chance, as much as those who stake thousands on the 
turning of a wheel, on a card or a die ? It is the old sin 
of trying to get the fruits of labor without labor, to get 
something for nothing, that is the curse of all modern 
cities and countries ; that demoralizes young men in New 
York and San Francisco, as well as in Paris and London. 
The great lesson which we all need to learn, is the duty 
and the dignity of labor. When a man claims only what 
he works for he may feel an honest pride in his gains, 
and grow in fortune without losing the esteem of the 
good, or his own manly self-respect. 

Leaving this gorgeous den of thieves behind us, we 
haste away to the mountains ; for while the railroad 
seeks its level path along the very shore of the sea, the 
Corniche road, built before railroads were thought of, 
finds its only passage over stupendous heights, and we 
have now to climb a spur of the Alps, which pushes its 
great shoulder close to the sea. It is a toilsome path for 
our Kttle ponies, but they pull up bravely, height after 
height. Every one we mount, we hope to find the 
summit ; but we keep going on and on, and up and up, 



208 MILAN AND GENOA. 

till it seems to be a Jacob's Ladder, tbat reaches to 
HeaA^en. On one of the highest points we look right 
down into Monte Carlo as into the crater of a volcano. 
It does not burn nor smoke, but it has an open mouth, 
and many there be that go down quick into hell ! 

At last we are on the top, and pass from one peak to 
another, all the time enjoying a wide outlook over the 
blue Mediterranean, which lies calmly at the foot of these 
great mountains, with only a white sail here and there 
dotting the mighty waters. 

It was nearly sunset when we came in sight of Nice, 
gleaming in the distance on the sea-shore. "We had 
been riding aU day, and our driver, a bright young 
Savoyard, eager to have his long journey over, put his 
ponies to their speed, and we came down the mountain 
as if shot out of a gun, and rattled through the streets 
of Nice at such a break-neck pace, that the police shouted 
after us, lest we should run over somebod3^ But there 
was no stopping our little Jehu, till suddenly he reined 
us up with a jerk before the hotel. 

In the old days when I first travelled in the south of 
Europe, Nice was an Italian town. It belonged to the 
small kingdom of Sardinia. But in 1860, as a return for 
the help of Napoleon in the campaign of 1859 against 
Austria, by which Victor Emmanuel gained Lombardy, 
it was ceded with Savoy to France, and is now a French 
city. It has prospered by the change, having grown 
until it has some fifty thousand inhabitants ; and every 
winter it draws to it great numbers of foreign visitors, 
chiefly English and Americans, as the most deUghtful 
resort in the South of Europe. 

It was now Saturday night, and the Sabbath drew on. 
Never was its rest more grateful, and never did it find 
us in a more restful spot. Everybody comes here for 
repose, to find rest and healing. The place is perhaps a 



A EIDE OVER THE CORNICHE EOAD. 209 

little saddened by the presence of so many invalids, 
some of whom come here only to die. In yonder hotel 
on the shore, the heir of the throne of aU the Russias 
breathed his last a few winters ago. These clear skies 
and this soft air could not save him, even when aided by 
all the medical skill of Europe. Consumption, when far 
advanced, is an enemy of human life, which no climate 
can withstand. But, as a place of rest, if it is permitted 
to man to find rest anywhere on earth, it is here, with 
the blue skies above, and the smiling earth below, and 
with no sound to disturb, but only the murmur of the 
melancholy sea. 

But a traveller is not allowed to rest. He comes not 
to stay, but only to see — to look, and then to disappear ; 
and so, after a short two days in Nice, we took a quick 
return by night, and in eight hours found ourselves 
again in Genoa. 



CHAPTER XX. 

IN THE VALE OF THE AKNO. 

We axe getting more into the lieai-t of Italy as "we 
come fai'tlier south. In the old Roman days the country 
watered by the Po was not a pai-t of Italy ; it was Cisal- 
pine Gaul. This we leave behind as we turn southward 
fi'om Genoa. The road runs along the shore of the 
Mediterranean ; it is a continuation of the Riviera as far 
as Spezzia, where we leave the sea and strike inland to 
Pisa, one of the Mediaeval cities, which in its best days 
was a rival of Genoa, and which has stiU some memo- 
rials of its former grandeur. Its sights, however, are 
few : the famous Leaning Tower ; the Cathedral and 
Baptistery ; and the Campo Santo (filled with eaxih. 
brought fi'om Jerusalem in fifty-three ships, that the 
faithful might be buried in holy ground) ; and all in one 
group, so that they can be seen in an hour or two, when 
the traveller will continue his way along the Valley of the 
Arno to Florence. 

And now the inspiration of the country, the genius 
tod, comes upon us more and more. We are in Tuscany, 
one of the most beautiful portions of the whole penin- 
sula, which we see, if not in its best season, certainly 
not in its poorest. Most foreigners come to Italy in 
the winter, through fear of Roman fever. But a veteran 
traveller told me that, so far fi'om waiting for cold 
weather, he thought Italy could be seen in its full beauty 
only in an earher month, when the country was still 
clothed mth vegetation. It is better to see it in its sum- 
mer bloom, or in the ripeness of autumn, than when the 
land is stripped, when the mountains are bleak and bai'e, 
when there is not a leaf on the vine or the fig-tree, and 



IN THE VALE OF THE ARNO. 211 

only naked branches shiver in the wintry wind. It is 
now the last of September, when the country is still in 
its autumn glory. The vineyards are full of the riches 
of the year ; the peasants are gathering the grapes, and 
we have seen that most picturesque Italian scene, the 
vintage. Dark forests clothe the slopes of the Apen- 
nines. At this season there is a soft, hazy atmosphere, 
like that of our Indian summer, which gives a kind of 
pm*ple tint to the Italian landscapes. The skies are fair, 
but not more fair than that heaven of blue which bends 
over many a beloved spot in America. Nor is the vege- 
tation richer, nor are the landscapes more lovely, than in 
our own dear vales of Berkshire. Even the Arno at this 
season, like most of the other rivers of Italy, is a dried 
up bed with only a rivulet of muddy water running 
through it. Later in the autumn, when the rains 
descend ; or in the spring, when the snows melt upon 
the mountain, it is swollen to such a height that it often 
overflows its banks, and the fuU stream rushes like a 
torrent. But at present the mighty Arno, of which 
poets have sung so much, is not so large as the Housa- 
tonic, nor half so beautiful as that silver stream, on 
whose banks the meadows are always fresh and green, 
and where the watei s are pure and sparkling that ripple 
over its pebbled bed. 

But the position of Florence is certainly one of infin- 
ite beauty, lying in a valley, surrounded by mountains. 
The approach to it by a raiu'oad, when one gets his first 
view from a level, is much less picturesque tLan in the 
old days when I travelled by vettura, and came to it over 
the Apennines, and after a long day's journey reached 
the top of a distant hill, from which we saw Florence 
afar, sitting like a queen in the Valley of the Arno, the 
setting sun reflected fi-om the Duomo and the Campanile. 

In this Happy Valley wo have spent a week, visiting 



212 IN THE VALE OF THE AENO. 

the galleries of pictures, and making excui'sions to Fie- 
sole and other points of view on the surrounding hiUs. 

Florence is in many respects the most attractive place 
in Italy, as it vmites the charms of art "with those of 
modern life ; having a double existence, in the dead past 
and in the living present. It is a large, thriving, pros- 
perous city, and has become a great resort of English 
and Ajnericans, who gather here in the winter months, 
and form a most agreeable society. Here are American 
sculptors and painters, a visit to whose studios will show 
that with all our intensely practical life, the genius for 
art is not wanting in our countrymen. 

Florence has had a material growth within a few 
years, from being for a time the capital of the new king- 
dom of Italy. When Tuscany was added to Sardinia, 
the capital was removed from Turin to Florence as a 
more central city, and the presence of the Court and the 
Parhament gave a new life to its streets. Now the Court 
is removed to Rome, but the impulse still remains, and 
in the large squares which have been opened, new build- 
ings are still going up. To be sure, there is not only 
growing but groaning, for the taxes are fearfully high, as 
they are everywhere in Italy. The country is bearing 
burdens as heavy as if it were in a state of war. It is 
a burden, however, that could soon be thrown oflf, if 
Italy had the independence to set an example to the 
other powers by being the first country in Eau-ope to 
reduce her ai-maments. 

But leaving aside political and financial questions, 
one may be permitted to enjoy this delightful old city, 
with its treasures of art, and its rich historical memories. 
Florence has lately been revelling in its glories of old 
days in a celebration of the four hundredth anniversary 
of the birth of Michael Angelo — as a few years since 
it celebrated the six hundredth anniversary of the birth 



m THE VALE OF THE AENO. 213 

of Dante. Few men in history better deserve to be 
remembered than Michael Angelo, whose rugged face 
looks more like that of a hard-headed old Scotchman, 
than of one who belonged to the hand?:ome Italian race. 
And yet that brain was fuU of beautiful creations, and 
in his life of eighty-nine years he produced enough to 
leave, not only to Florence, but to Rome, many monu- 
ments of his genius. He was great in every form of 
art — as painter, sculptor, and architect — and even had 
some pretension to be a poet. He was the sculptor of 
David and Moses ; the painter of the Last Judgment 
and the frescoes of the Sistine Chapel, and the architect 
who built St. Peter's. And his character was equal to 
his genius. He was both rehgious and patriotic, not only 
building churches, but the fortifications that defended 
Florence against her enemies. Such was Michael Angelo 
— a simple, grand old man, whose name is worthy to 
live with the heroes of antiquity. 

The fetes in honor of this anniversary lasted a week 
We arrived just at the close, and could be present 
only at the performance of Verdi's Requiem, which con- 
cluded the whole. This sublime composition was writ- 
ten for the great Italian author Manzoni, to be sung in 
the Cathedral of Milan, whose majestic aisles were in 
harmony with its solemn and mournful strains. Here 
in Florence it would have seemed more fitting in the 
Duomo than in a theatre, though perhaps the latter 
is better constructed for an orchestra and an audience. 
The Requiem was to be the great musical event of the 
year. Months had been spent in preparation. Distin- 
guished singers were to lead in the principal parts, while 
hundreds were to join in the tremendous chorus. We 
had heard the fame of this preparation at Milan and at 
Venice, and, having seen what Italy could show in one 
form of art, were now able to appreciate it in another. 



214 IN THE VAXE OF THE AENO. 

On the night of the representation, the largest theatre in 
Florence was crowded from pit to dome, although the 
price of admission was very high. The vast assembly 
comprised what was most distinguished in Florence, 
with representatives from other cities of Italy, and from 
other countries. The performance occupied over two 
hours. It began with soft, wailing melodies, such as 
might be composed to soothe a departing soul, or to 
express the wish of survivors that it might enter into its 
everlasting rest. Then succeeded the Dies Ie^ — the old 
Latin hymn, which for centuries has sounded forth its 
accents of warning and of woe. Those who are familiar 
with this sublime composition will remember the terrific 
imagery with which the terrors of the Judgment are 
presented, and can imagine the effect when rendered 
with all the power of music. First there was a quiet, 
lulling strain — almost like silence, which was the calm 
before the storm. Then a sound was heard, but low, 
as of something afar off, distant and yet approaching. 
Nearer and nearer it drew, swelling every instant, till it 
seemed as if the trumpets that should wake the dead 
were stirring the alarmed air. At last came a crash as 
if a thunder peal had burst in the building. This ter- 
rific explosion, of course, was soon relieved by softer 
sounds. There were sudden transitions, one part being 
given by a single powerful voice, or by two or three, or 
four, to which the mighty chorus responded with a 
sound like that of many waters. After the Dies Irse 
followed a succession of more gentle strains, which spoke 
of pardon and peace. The Agnus Dei was given with 
a tenderness that was quite overpowering. Those who 
have heard the Oratorio of the Messiah, and remember 
the melting sweetness of such passages as " He lead- 
eth me beside the still waters," and " I know that my 
Bedeemer liveth," can form an idea of the marvellous 



IN THE VALE OF THE AENO. 215 

effect. Poor judge of music as I am, I could not but 
observe bow mucb grander was tbe Dies Irse in tbe 
original Latin tban in any Engiisb version. Tbe words 
eternal rest are sweet in Engiisb, but bow weak tbey seem 
beside tbe Latin requiem sempiteenam, on wbicb tbe voices 
of tbe most powerful singers lingered and finally died 
away, as if bidding farewell to a soul tbat was soaring 
to tbe very presence of God. Tbis Requiem was a fitting 
close to tbe public celebrations by wbicb Florence did 
bonor to tbe memory of bar illustrious dead. 

Micbael Angelo is buried in tbe cburcb of Santa 
Croce, and near bis tomb is tbat of anotber illustrious 
Florentine, wbose name belongs to tbe world, and to tbe 
beavens — "tbe starry Galileo." Honoring bis memory 
as tbe world now does, pilgrims seek out tbe bouse 
wbere be lived and tbe room wbere be died. Tbere is 
even a greater interest in visiting tbe little tower outside 
of tbe city, on an elevation wbicb commands a wide 
horizon, from wbicb be made bis study of tbe beavenly 
bodies. He bad but a small telescope — a slender tube 
and very small glass, compared witb tbe splendid instru- 
ments in our modern observatories, but it was enough 
for bim to watcb tbe constellations, as tbey rose over tbe 
crest of tbe Apennines, and follow tbeir sbining patb all 
nigbt long. Tbrougb tbis be observed tbe mountains in 
tbe moon and tbe satellites of Jupiter. Wbat a com- 
mentary on tbe intelligence of tbe Roman CatboHc 
Cburcb, tbat sucb a man should be dragged before 
tbe Inquisition — before ignorant priests who were not 
worthy to untie bis shoes — and requb-ed, under severe 
penalties, to renounce tbe doctrine of tbe revolution of 
tbe globe ! Tbe old man yielded in a moment of weak- 
ness, but as be rose from bis knees, bis spirit returned to 
bim, and be exclaimed, " But still it moves !" A good 
motto for reformers of aU ages ! Popes and inquisitors 



216 IN THE VALE OF THE ARNO. 

may send asti'onomers to prison or to death, buL they 
cannot stop the revolution of the eaiih, or the movement 
of the stai's. 

There is another name in the history of Florence, 
which recalls the persecutions of Rome — that of Savo- 
narola. No spot is more sacred than the cell in the 
Monastery, where he passed so many years, and from 
which he issued, crucifix in hand (the same that is still 
kept as a holy relic), to make those fierj- appeals in the 
streets of Florence, which stirred the heai-ts of the 
people, and led at last to his trial and death. A rude 
picture that is hung on the wall represents the final 
scene. It is in the public square, in fi-ont of the Old 
Palace, where a stage is erected, and monks ai-e conduct- 
ing Savonai'ola and two others who suffered with him, to 
the spot where the flames are kindled. Here he was 
burnt, and his ashes thrown into the Arno. But how 
impotent the rage that thought to stifle such a voice 1 
His name belongs to history, and his words, like his 
ashes, have gone into the air, and the winds have taken 
them up and cai"ried them round the world. The bondage 
of Italy under foreign masters has caused a paralysis of 
her intellectual as weU as political life, so that she has 
produced no name to equal these in four hundi'ed years. 
For though Byron eulogizes so higlily, and perhaps 
justly, Alfieri and Canova, it would be an extxavagant 
estimate which should assign them a place in the Pan- 
theon of History beside the immortals of the Middle Ages. 
And yet Italy has not been wholly deserted of genius or 
of glory in these later centuries. In the dai'kest times she 
has had writers, as weU as painters and sculptors, of 
whom she may be proud, and the enthusiasm with which 
she celebrates the bii'tli of Dante and Michael Angelo, 
shows an admii'ation for greatness, which may inspire 
others who will rank as their worthy successors. 



IN THE VALE OE THE AKNO. 217 

Within a few years Florence has become such a resort 
of strangers that some of its most interesting associa- 
tions are with its foreign residents. In the English 
burying ground many of that country sleep far from 
their native island. Some, like Walter Savage Landor 
and Mrs. Browning, had made Florence their home. 
Italy was their adopted country, and it is fit that they 
sleep in its sunny clime, beneath a southern sky. So 
of our countryman Powers, who was a resident of 
Florence for thirty-five years, and whose widow stiU lives 
here in the very pretty villa which he built, with her sons 
and daughter mairied and settled arotmd her, a beau- 
tiful domestic group. In the cemetery I sought another 
grave of one known to all Americans. On a plain stone 
of granite is inscribed simply the name : "Theodore 
Pakkeb ; born at Lexington, Massachusetts, in the United 
States of America, August 24th, 1810 ; died in Florence, 
May 10th, 1860." In that grave rests all that is mortal 
of one of the great men of the New World. 

Mrs. Browning's epitaph is still briefer. There is a 
longer inscription on a tablet placed by the municipal 
government of Florence in front of the house which 
was her home for many years. There, as one looks up 
to those Casa Gubdi Windows, which she has given as 
a name to a volume of her poems, he may read that 
" In this house lived and died Elizabeth Barrett Brown- 
ing, who by her genius and her poetry made a golden 
link between England and Italy." But on her tomb, 
which is of pure white marble, is only "E. B. B. Ob. 
1861." 

But what need of more words to perpetuate the name 
of one who speaks for herself in what she has written ; 
which, even now that her voice is silent, still lingers in 
the air, like a far off strain of music, and goes floating 
down the ages ! 



CHAPTEE XXI. 

OLD BOME AND NEW KOME. 

At last we are in Eome ! We reached here on the 
first of October, a sad anniversary, as on that day of last 
year I came from the country, bringing one who was 
never to return. Now, as then, the day was sadly beau- 
tiful — rich with the hues of autumn, when nature is 
gently dying, a day suited to quiet thoughts and tender 
memories. It was late in the afternoon when we found 
ourselves racing along the banks of the Tiber — "the 
yellow Tiber" it was indeed, as its waters were turbid 
enough — and Just as the sun was setting we shot across 
the Campagna, and when the lamps were lighted were 
rattling through the streets of the Eternal City. 

To a stranger coming here there is a double interest ; 
for there are two cities to be studied — old Eome and 
new Eome — the Eome of Julius Ceesar, and the Eome of 
Pius IX. and Victor Emmanuel. In historical interest 
there is no comparison, as that of the ancient far sur- 
passes that of the modem city. And it is the former 
which first engages our attention. 

How strange it seems to awake in the morning and 
feel that we are in the city that once rtded the world ! 
Yes, we are on the very spot. Eound us are the Seven 
Hills. We go to the top of the Capitol and count them 
all. We look down to the river bank where Eomulus 
and Eemus were cast ashore, like Moses in the bulrushes, 
left to die, and, according to the old legend, were suckled 
by a wolf ; and where Eomulus, when grown to man's 
estate, began to build a city. Antiquarians still trace 
the line of his ancient wall. On the Capitol Hill is the 
Tarpeian Eock, from which traitors were hurled. Under 
the hill, buried in the earth, one stiU sees the massive 



OLD ROME AND NEW ROME. 219 

arch of the Cloaca Maxima, the great sewer, built by 
the Tarquins, through which all the waste of Rome has 
flowed into the Tiber for twenty-five hundred years; 
and there are the pillars of the ancient bridge held by 
the hero of whom Macaulay writes in his "Lays of 
Ancient Rome " how, long after, in the traditions of the 
people, 

" still was the story told. 
How Horatius kept the bridge. 
In the brave days of old." 

Looking round the horizon, every summit recalls his- 
torical memories. There are the Sabine Hills, where 
hved the tribe from which the early Romans (who were 
at first, Hke some of our border settlements, wholly a 
community of men,) helped themselves to wives. Yon- 
der, to the south, are the Alban Hills, where, in what 
seems the hollow of a mountain, Hannibal encamped 
with his army, looking down upon Rome. Li the same 
direction lies the Appian Way, lined for miles with 
tombs of the illustrious dead. Along that way came 
the legions returning from distant conquests, "bringing 
many captives home to Rome," with camels and ele- 
phants bearing the spoils of Africa and the East. 

These recollections increase in interest as we come 
down to the time of the Csesars. This is the culminat- 
ing point of Roman history, as then the empire reached 
its highest point of power and glory. Julius Csesar is 
the greatest character of ancient Rome, as soldier and 
leader of armies, and as the ruler whose very presence 
awed the Roman Senate. Such was the magic of his 
name that it was said peculiar omens and portents 
accompanied his death. As Shakespeare has it : 

" In the most high and palmy state of Rome, 
A little ere the mighty Julius fell. 
The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead 
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets." 



220 OLD ROME AND NEW ROME. 

It was therefore with an interest that no other name 
could inspii'e, that we saw in the Capitol a statue, which 
is said to be the most faithful existing representation of 
that impeiial man ; and in the Strada Palace the statue 
of Pompej, which is believed to be the very one at the 
base of which "great Ceesar fell." * 

With CsBsar ended the ancient Bepublic, and began 
the Empu'e. It was then that Rome attained her widest 
dominion, and the city its greatest splendor. She was 
the mistress of the whole world, from Egypt to Britain, 
ruling on both sides of the Mediterranean, along the 
shores of Eui'ope, Asia, and Africa, all of which contrib- 
uted to the magnificence of the Eternal City. It was 
the boast of Augustus that "he found Rome of brick, 
and left it of marble." Under him and his successors 
were reai-ed the palaces and temples, the very ruins 
of which are still the wonder and admii'ation of the 
world. 

The knowledge of these ruins has been greatly 
increased by recent excavations. Till within a few 
years Rome was a buried citj'', almost as much as Pom- 
peii. The debris of centuries had filled up her streets 
and squares, till the earth lay more than tweut}^ feet 
deep in the Forum, choking up temples and ti'iumphal 
arches ; and even the lower part of the Coliseum had 
been submerged in the general wreck and ruin. In 
every part of the city could be seen the upper portions 
of buildings, the fiieze on the capitals of columns, that 
were half under ground, and that, like Milton's lion, 
seemed pawing to be free. 

The work of clearing away this rubbish was so vast 
that it had been neglected from century to century. 
But during the occupation by the French troops, that 

* " E'en at the base of Pompey's statue. 

Which all the while ran blood, great Ceesar fell." 



OLD ROME AND NEW ROME, 221 

Government expended large sums in uncovering these 
ruins, and the work has since been continued by Victor 
Emmanuel, until now, as the result of twenty years' con- 
tinuous labor, a buried city has been brought to light. 
The Forum has been cleared away, so that wo may walk 
on its pavement, amid its broken columns, and see the 
very tribune from which Cicero addressed the Roman 
people. Beside this Central Forum, there were the 
Forums of Julius Caesar, of Augustus, of Nerva, and of 
Trajan, where stiU stands that marvellous Column in 
bronze (covered with figures in bas-relief, to represent 
the conquest of the Dacians), which has been copied in 
the Column of the Place Vendome in Paris. All of these 
Forums were parts of one whole. What is now covered 
by streets and houses was an open space, extending from 
the Capitol as far as the Coliseum in one direction, and 
the Column of Trajan in another, suiTounded by tem- 
ples and basilicas, and columns and triumphal arches, 
and overlooked by the palace of the Caesars. This 
whole area was the centre of Rome, where its heart 
beat, when it contained two millions of people ; where 
the people came together to discuss public affairs, or to 
witness triumphal processions returning from the wars. 
Along the Via Sacra came the Roman legions, winding 
their way up to the Capitoline Hill to lay their trophies 
at the feet of the Senate. 

Perhaps the best idea of the splendor and magnifi- 
cence of ancient Rome may be gained from exploring 
the ruins of the palace of the Csesars. They are of vast 
extent, covering all the slopes of the Palatine HiU. Here 
great excavations have been made. The walk seems 
endless tlirough what has been laid open. The walls 
are built like a fortress, as if to last forever, and dec- 
orated with every resource of art known to that age, 
with sculptures and ceilings richly painted, like those 



222 OLD ROME AND NEW ROME. 

uncovered in the houses of Pompeii. These have been 
stripped of everything that was movable — the statues 
being transported to the galleries of the Vatican. The 
same fate has overtaken all the great structures of 
ancient Borne. They have been divested of their orna- 
ments and decoration, of gilding and bas-reliefs and 
statues, and in some cases have been quite dismantled. 
In the IMiddle Ages the Cohseum was the quarry of 
many proud noble famihes, out of which were built some 
of the gieatest palaces in Rome. Nothing saved the 
Pantheon but its conversion fi"om a heathen temple into 
a Christian church. Hundreds and thousands of col- 
umns of porphyry and alabaster and costly marbles, 
which adorn the churches of Home, were taken from the 
ruins of temples and palaces. 

But though stripped of every ornament, ancient Rome 
is still magnificent in her ruins. One may wander for 
days about the palace of the Caesars, walking through 
the libraries and theatres, under the arches, and over 
the tesselated pavement where these proud emperors 
walked nearly two thousand years ago. Ascending to 
the highest point of the ruins to take in their full 
extent, and looking out upon the Campagna, he will see 
a long line of arches reaching many miles, over which 
water was brought from the distant hills for the Golden 
House of Nero. 

The most massive ruin, which has been lately uncov- 
ered, is that of the Baths of Caracalla, which give an 
idea of the luxury and splendor of ancient Rome, as 
quite unequalled in modern times. 

But, of course, the structure which interests most of 
all, is the Coliseum : and here recent excavations have 
made fresh discoveries. The whole area has been dug 
down many feet, showing a vast system of passages 
underground ; not only those through which wild beasts 



OLD ROME AND NEW ROME. 223 

were let into the arena, but conduits for water, by which 
the whole amphitheatre could be flooded and turned into 
a lake large enough for Roman galleys to sail in ; and 
here naval battles were fought with all the fury of a con- 
flict between enemies, to the delight of the Roman 
Emperor and people, who shouted applause, when blood 
flowed freely on the decks, and dyed the waters below. 

There is one reflection that often recurs to me, as I 
wander among these ruins — what it is of all the works 
of man that really lives. Not architecture (the palaces of 
the Csesars are but heaps of ruins) ; but the Roman laws 
remain, incorporated with the legislation of every civil- 
ized country on the globe ; while Virgil and Cicero, the 
poet and the orator, are the dehght of aU who know the 
Latin tongue. Men pass away, their very monuments 
perish, but their thoughts, their wisdom, their learning 
and their genius, remain a perpetual inheritance to man- 
kind. 

After imperial Rome comes Christian Rome. Many 
of the stories of the first Christian centuries are fables 
and legends. Historical truth is so overlaid with a mass 
of traditions, that one is ready to reject the whole. 
"When they show us the stone on which they gravely 
teU that Abraham bound Isaac for the sacrifice ; and 
another on which Mary sat when she brought Christ into 
the temple ; and the staii'case from Pilate's house, the 
Scala Santa, up which every day and hour pilgrims may 
be seen going on their knees ; and a stone marked by 
the very prints of the Saviour's feet when He appeared 
to Peter — one is apt to turn away in disg*ust. But the 
general fact of the early planting of Christianity here, we 
know from the New Testament itself. Ecclesiastical his- 
torians are not agreed whether Peter was ever in Rome 
(although he is claimed as the first Pope), but that Paul 
was here we know from his epistles, and from the Book 



224 OLD EOME AND NEW ROME. 

of Acts, in whicli we have the particulars of his " appeal- 
ing to Caesar," his voyage to Italy, his shipwreck on 
the island of Malta, his landing at Puteoli, and going 
" towards Kome," where he Hved two years in " his own 
hired house, preaching and teaching, no man forbid- 
ding him." Several of his epistles were written from 
Rome. It is therefore quite probable that he was con- 
fined, according to the tradition, in the Mamertine Prison 
under the Capitol, and it is with deep emotion that one 
descends into that dark, rocky dungeon, far under- 
ground, where the great Apostle was once a prisoner, 
and from which he was led forth to die. He is said 
to have been beheaded without the wahs, and a rude 
figure by the roadside of two men embracing, marks 
the spot where it is said Paul and Peter met and fell 
on each other's neck on the morning of the last day — 
Paul going to be beheaded, and Peter into the city to be 
crucified with his head downwards, as he would not be 
crucified in the same posture as his Lord, whom he had 
once denied. On the place where Paul is said to have 
suffered now stands a chujch that is second only to St. 
Peter's. 

The persecutions of the early Christians by successive 
emperors are matters of history. The scene of their 
martyrdom is a sacred place, and we shudder at seeing 
on the walls the different modes of torture by which it 
was sought to break their allegiance to the faith ; we 
think of them in the Coliseum, where they were thrown 
to the lions ; and stiU more in the Catacombs, to which 
they fled for refuge, where, according to Pliny, they 
" sang hymns to Christ as to a God," and where still rest 
their bones, with many a rude inscription, testifying of 
their faith and hope. 

It is a sad reflection that the Christian Church, once 
established in Eome, should itself turn persecutor. But 



OLD ROME AND NEW KOiEE. 225 

it too became intoxicated with power, and could brook 
no resistance to its will. The Inquisition was for centu- 
ries a recognized institution of the Papacy, to guard the 
purity of the faith. The building devoted to the service 
of that tribunal stands to this day, close by the Church 
of St. Peter, and there is still a Papal officer who bears 
the dread title of " Grand Inquisitor." But fortunately 
his office no longer inspires terror, for it is at last 
reduced to the punishment of ecclesiastical offences by 
ecclesiastical discipline, instead of the arm of flesh, on 
which it once leaned. But the old building is at once 
" a prison and a palace " ; the cells are stiU there, though 
unoccupied. But in the Castle of St. Angelo there is a 
Chamber of Tortm'e, which has not always been merely 
for exhibition, where a Pope Clement (what a mockery 
in the name !) had Beatrice Cenci put to the torture, and 
forced to confess a crime of which she was not guilty. 
But we are not so unjust as to impute all these cruelties 
of a former and a darker time to the Catholic Church of 
the present day. Those were ages of intolerance and 
persecution. But none can deny that the Church has 
always been fiercely intolerant. There is abundant evi- 
dence that the massacre of St. Bartholomew was the 
occasion of great rejoicings at Eome. The bloody per- 
secuii&2i oi" the. Waldenses found no rebuke from him 
who claimed to be the viceger&nt of Christ ; a persecu- 
tion which called forth from Miltoa feat subUme prayer : 

Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, 
Whose bones lie scattered upon the Alpine mountains cold 1 

Amid such bitter recollections it is good to remember 
also the message of CromweU to the Pope, that " if favor 
were not shown to the people of God, the thunder of 
Enghsh cannon should be heard in the castle of St. 
Angelo ! " 

It seems a just retribution for those crimes of a 



226 OLD HOME AND NEW EOME. 

former age that the Pope in these last days has had to 
go down into the Valley of Humiliation. The reign of 
Pius IX. has been longer than that of any of his prede- 
cessors ; some may think it glorious, but it has witnessed 
at once the most daring assumption ever made by man — 
that of infalhbility, which belongs to God alone — fol- 
lowed by a bitter humiliation, as if God would cast this 
idol down to the ground. It is certainly a remarkable 
coincidence, that just as the dogma of Infallibility was 
proclaimed, Louis Napoleon rushed into war, as the 
result of which France, the chief supporter of the 
Papacy (having for twenty years kept an army in Borne 
to hold the Pope on his throne), was stricken down, and 
the first place in Europe taken by a Protestant power. 
Germany had already humbled the other great Catholic 
power of Europe, to the confusion and dismay of the 
Pope and his councillors. A gentleman who has lived 
many years in Rome, tells me that on the very day that 
the battle of Sadowa was fought, Cardinal Antonelli told 
a friend of his to " come round to his house that night 
to get the news ; that he expected to hear of one of the 
greatest victories ever won for the Church," so confi- 
dently did he and his master the Pope anticipate the 
triumph of Austria. Hour after hour passed, and no 
tidings came. It was midnight, and still no news of 
victory. Before morning the issue was known, that the 
Austrian army was destroyed. Cardinal AntoneUi did 
not come forth to proclaim the tidings. He shut him- 
self up, and was not seen for three weeks ! 

And so it has come to pass — whether by accident or 
design, whether by the violence of man or by the will of 
God — that the Pope has been gradually stripped of that 
power and prestige which once so acted upon the imagi- 
nations of men, that, hke Caesar, " his bend did awe the 
world," and has come to be merely the bishop, or arch- 



OLD EOME AND NEW BOME. 227 

bishop, of that portion of Christendom which submits to 
the Catholic Church. 

To-day Rome is divided into two camps : the Vati- 
can is set over against the Quirinal ; the Pope against 
Victor Emmanuel ; neither of whom has anything to do 
with the other. Apart from the question of rightful 
authority, the sympathies of the Italian people are on 
the side of Victor Emmanuel. But even though the 
Pope be discrowned, he is yet a great figure in the 
world, whose rightful place and power demand consid- 
eration apart 



CHAPTER XXn. 

THE PKISONER OF THE VATICAN. 

Alas for the good old times when a pilgrim to Rome 
was not cheated out of a sight of that which he came to 
behold — ^when the Pope was Bot only the head of the 
Church, but of the State ; when he was not only a spir- 
itual, but a civil potentate — not only Pope, but King — 
and used to ride about a great deal to take a survey of 
his dominions. One might meet him of an afternoon 
taking an airing on the Pincian Hill, or on some of the 
roads leading out of Rome. He always appeared in a 
magnificent state carriage, of red trimmed with gold, 
with six horses richly caparisoned, and outriders going 
bofore, and the Swiss guards following after. [What 
would poor old Peter have said, if he had met his suc- 
successor in such mighty pomp ?] The Cardinals too, 
arrayed in scarlet, had their red carriages and their fine 
liveries, and their horses pranced up and down the 
Corso. Thus Rome was very gay. The processions 
were endless, and they were glorious to behold. It was 
a grand sight to see the Pope and all his Cardinals, 
in their scarlet dresses, sweeping into St, Peter's and 
kneeling together in the nave, while the muskets of the 
Swiss guards rang on the pavement, in token of the might 
of arms which then attended the spiritual power. 

But now, alas! all this is ended. The spoiler has 
entered into the holy place, and the Holy Father appears 
no more in the streets. Since that fatal day when the 
Italian troops marched into Rome — the 20th of Septem- 
ber, 1870 — he has not put his foot in a carriage, nor 
shown himself to the Roman people. The Cardinals, 
who live in different parts of the city, are obliged to go 



THE PRISONEK OF THE VATICAN. 229 

about ; but they have laid aside all their fine raiment 
and glittering equipage, and appear only in solemn 
black, as if they were all undertakers, attending the 
funeral of the Papacy. The Pope has shut himself up 
closely in the Vatican. He is, indeed, just as free to go 
abroad as ever. There is nothing to prevent his riding 
about Kiome as usual. But no, the dear old man will 
have it that he is restrained of his liberty, and calls him- 
self " a prisoner ! " To be sure he is not exactly in a 
guard-house, or in a cell, such as those in the Inquisition 
just across the square of St. Peter, where heretics used 
to be accommodated with rather close quarters. His 
" prison " is a large one — a palace, with hundi'eds of 
richly furnished apartments, where he is surrounded 
with luxury and splendor, and where pilgrims flock to 
him from all parts of the earth. It is a princely retreat 
for one in his old age, and a grand theatre on which to 
assume the role of martyr. Almost anybody would be 
wilHng to play the part of prisoner, if by this means he 
might attract the attention and sympathy of the whole 
civilized world.* 

But so complete is this voluntary confinement of the 
Pope, that he has not left the Vatican in these five years, 
not even to go into St. Peter's, though it adjoins the 
Vatican, and he can enter it by a private passage. It is 
whispered that he did go in on one occasion, to see his 
own portrait, which is wrought in mosaic, and placed 
over the bronze statue of St. Peter. But on this occa- 
sion the public were excluded, and when the doors were 
opened he had disappeared. He will not even take part 

* This pretence of being a prisoner is so plainly a device to excite 
public sympathy, that it is exaggerated in the most absurd manner, 
A lady, just returned from the Rhine, tells me that in Germany the 
Catholics circulate pictures of the Pope behind the bars of a prison, and 
even sell straws of his bed, to show that he is compelled to sleep on a 
pallet of straw, like a convict ! The same thing is done in Ireland. 



230 THE PBISONER OF THE VATICAN. 

in the great festivals of the Church, which are thus shorn 
of half their splendor. 

How well I remember the gorgeous ceremonies of 
Holy Week, beginning with Palm Sunday, and ending 
with Easter. I was one of the foreigners in the Sistine 
Chapel on Good Friday, when the Pope's choir, com- 
posed of eunuchs, sang the Miserere ; and on the piazza 
of St. Peter's at Easter, when the Pope was carried on 
men's shoulders to the great central wiudow, where, in 
the presence of an immense crowd, he pronounced his 
benediction urbi et orbi; and the cannon of the Castle of 
St. Angelo thundered forth the mighty blessings which 
had thus descended on "the city and the world." I saw 
too, that night, the illumination of St. Peter's, when 
arches and columns and roof and dome were hung with 
lamps, that when all lighted together, made such a flame 
that it seemed as if the very heavens were on fire. 

But now all this glory and splendor have gone out in 
utter night. There are no more blessings for unbeliev- 
ers — nor even for the faithful, except as they seek them 
within the sacred precincts of the Vatican, where alone 
the successor of St. Peter is now visible. It is a great 
loss to those who have not been in Eome before, espe- 
cially to those enthusiastic persons who feel that they 
cannot die happy unless they have seen the Pope. 

But I do not need anything to gratify my curiosity. 
I have seen the Pope many times of old, and I recognize 
in the photographs which are in all shop windows the 
same face which I saw a quarter of a century ago, when 
I thought it as benevolent a countenance as ever shone 
forth in kindness on one's fellow creatvu'es. It is still the 
same, only aged by the lapse of these many years. AH 
who know the Pope personally, speak of him as a \evj 
kind-hearted man, with gentle and winning manners. 
When I was here in 1848 he was universally popular. 



THE PRISONER Or THE VATICAN. 231 

His predecessor, Gregory XVI., had been very conser- 
vative. But wlien Cardinal Mastai Ferretti — for that 
was hJB name — was elected Pope, he began a series of 
reforms, which elated the Koman people, and caused 
the eyes of all Europe to be turned towards him as the 
coming man. He was the idol of the hour. It seemed 
as if he had been raised up by Providence to lead the 
nations in the path of peaceful progress. But the Eev- 
olutions of 1848, in Paris and elsewhere, frightened him. 
And when Garibaldi took possession of Eome, and pro- 
claimed the Republic, his ardor for reform was entirely 
gone. He escaped from the city disguised as a valet, 
and fled for protection to the King of Naples, from 
which he was brought back by French troops. From 
that time he surrendered himself entirely to the Reac- 
tionary party, and since then, while well meaning as 
ever, he is the victim of a sj'stem, from which he cannot 
escape, and which makes him do things wholly at vari- 
ance with his kindly and generous nature. 

Even the staunchest Protestants who go to see 
the Pope are charmed with him. They had, perhaps, 
thought of him as the "Giant Pope," whom Bunyan 
describes as sitting at the mouth of a cave, and glaring 
fiercely at Pilgrims as they go by ; and they are aston- 
ished to find him a very simple old man, pleasant in 
conversation, fond of ladies' society, with a great deal 
of humor, enjoying a joke as much as anybody, with a 
merry twinkle in his eyes, and a face aU smiles, as if he 
had never uttered an anathema. This is indeed very 
agreeable, but all the more does it make one astounded 
at the incongruity between such pleasant pastime and 
his awful spiritual pretensions — for this man who sits 
there, chatting so famiharly, and laughing so heartily, 
professes to believe that he is the vicegerent of the 
Almighty upon earth, and that he has the power to open 



232 THE PKISONER OF THE VATICAN. 

and shut tlie gates of hell ! God forgive him for such 
a thought ! It seems incredible that he can believe it 
himself; or, if he did, that the curses could roll so 
lightly from his lips. But anathemas appear to be a 
part of his daily recreation. He seems really to enjoy 
firing a volley into his enemies, as one would fire a gun 
into a flock of pigeons. Here is the last shot, which I 
find in the paper of this very day : 

"The Roman Cathohc papers at The Hague pubHsh 
a pastoral letter from the Pope to the Archbishop of 
Utrecht, by which His Holiness makes knovsm that 
Johannes Heykamp has been excommunicated, as he 
has allowed himseK to be elected and ordained as arch- 
bishop of the Jansenists in Holland, and also Johannes 
Rinkel, who calls himself Bishop of Haarlem, who per- 
fonned the ordination. The Pope also declares to be 
excommunicated all those who assisted at the ceremony. 
The Pope also calls this ordination ' a vile and despica- 
ble deed,' and warns all good Catholics not to have any 
intercourse with the perpetrators of it, but to pray with- 
out ceasing that God may turn their hearts." 

These anathemas are not for any immorality, however 
gross, but simply for ecclesiastical ofi^ences. The Queen 
of Spain may be notorious for her profligacy, yet she 
receives no rebuke, she is even a beloved daughter, to 
whom the Pope sends presents, so long as she is devout 
and reverent towards him, or towards the Church. Any 
prince, or private gentleman, may break aU the Ten 
Commandments, and stiU be a good Catholic ; but if 
he doubts Infallibihty, he is condemned ! All sins may 
be forgiven, except rebellion against the Church or the 
Pope, He has excommunicated Dollinger, the most 
learned Catholic theologian in Europe, and Father 
Hyacinthe, the most eloquent preacher. Poor Victor 
Emmanuel comes in for oft-repeated curses, simply 



THE PRISONER OF THE VATICAN. 233 

because in a great political crisis he yielded to the 
inevitable. He did not seize Rome ! It was the Italian 
people, whom he could no more stop than he could stop 
the inrolling of the sea. If he had not gone before the 
people, they would have gone over him. But for this 
he is cut off from the communion of the Catholic 
Church, and dehvered over, so far as the anathema of 
the Pope can do it, to the pains of hell. 

And yet if we allege this as proof that some remains 
of human infirmity still cling to the Infallible Head of 
the Church, or that a very kind nature has been turned 
into gall and bitterness, we are told by those who have 
just come from a reception that he was all sweetness and 
smiles. An EngUsh priest who is in our hotel had an 
audience last evening, and he says : " The Holy Father 
was very jolly, laughing heartUy at every pleasantry." 
It does one good to see an old man so merry and light- 
hearted, but does not such gayety seem a little forced or 
out of place ? Men who have no cares on their minds 
may laugh and be gay, but for the Vicar of Christ does 
it not seem to imply that he attaches no weight to the 
maledictions that he throws about so Hberally ? If he 
felt the awful meaning of what he utters, he could not 
so easily preserve his good spirits and his merriment, 
while he consigns his fellow-men to perdition. One 
would think that if obHged to pronounce such a doom 
upon any, he would do it with tears — that he woidd 
retire into his closet, and throw ashes upon his head, 
and come forth in sackcloth, overwhelmed at the hard 
necessity which compelled the stern decree. But it does 
not seem to interfere with any of his enjoyments. He 
gives a reception at which he is smiling and gracious, 
and then proceeds to cast out some vpretched fellow- 
creature from the communion of the Holy Catholic 
Church ! There is something shocking in the easy, off- 



234 THE PKBONEB OF THE VATICAN. 

hand manner in -which he despatches his enemies. He 
anathematizes with as little concern as he takes his 
breakfast, apparently attaching as much solemnity to 
one as the other. The mixture of levity with stern 
duties is not a pleasant sight, as when one orders an 
execution between the puffs of a cigar ! But this holy 
man, this Vicegerent of God on earth, pronounces a sen- 
tence more awful still ; for he orders what, in his view, 
is worse than an execution — an excommunication ! Yet 
he does it quite unconcerned. If he does not order 
an anathema between the puffs of a cigar, he does it 
between two pinches of snuff. Such levity would be 
inconceivable, if we could suppose that he really believes 
that his curses have power to harm, that they cast a 
feather's weight into the scale that decides the eternal 
destiny of a human soul. We do not say that he is con- 
scious of any hypocrisy. Far from it. It is one of those 
cases, which are so common in the world, in which there 
is an unconscious contradiction between one's personal 
sjTnpathy and his public conduct ; in which a man is 
better than his theory. I do not believe the Pope is 
half as bad as he would make himself to be — half so 
resentful and \dndictive as he appeal's. As we some- 
times say, in excuse for harsh language, "he does not 
mean anything by it." He does mean something, viz., 
to assert his own aiithority. But he does not quite 
desire to dehver up his fellow-creatures to the pains of 
eternal death. 

We are truly sorry for the Pope. He is an old man, 
and with all his natural gentleness, may be supposed to 
have something of the irritabiUty of age. And now he 
is engaged in a contest in which he is sure to fail ; he is 
fighting against the inevitable, against a course of things 
which he has no more power to withstand than to breast 
the current of Niagara. He might as well take his stand 



THE PEISONEK OF THE VATICAN. 235 

on the brink of the great cataract, and think by the 
force of prayers or maledictions to stop the flowing of 
the mighty waters. All the powers of Europe are 
against him. Among the sovereigns he has not a single 
friend, or, at least, one who has any power to help him. 
The Emperor of Germany is this week on a visit to 
Milan as the guest of Victor Emmanuel. But he will 
not come to Rome to pay his respects to the Pope. 
The Emperor of Austria came to Venice last spring, but 
neither did he, though he is a good Catholic, continue 
his journey as far as the Vatican. Thus the Pope is left 
alone. For this he has only himself to blame. He has 
forced the conflict, and now he is in a false position, 
from which there is no escape. 

All Europe is looking anxiously to the event of the 
Pope's death. He has already filled the Pajoal chair 
longer than any one of his two hundred and fifty-six 
predecessors, running back to St. Peter. But he is still 
hale and strong, and though he is eighty-three years old,* 
he may live a few years longer. He belongs to a very 
long-lived family ; his grandfather died at ninety-three, 
his father at eighty-three, his mother at eighty-eight, 
his eldest brother at ninety. Protestants may well pray 
that he should be blessed with the utmost length of days ; 
for the longer he lives, and the more obstinate he is, the 
more does he force Italy to assert its independence, and 
not only Italy, but Austria, as well as Protestant Ger- 
many, May he live to be an hundred years old ! 



* I give Ms age as put down in the books, where the date of his birth 
is given as May 13, 1792; although our English priest tells me that the 
Pope himself says that he is eighty-^re, adding playfully that "his 
enemies have deprived him of his dominions, and his friends of two 
years of his life." My informant says that, notwithstanding his great 
age, he is in perfect health, with not a sign of weakness or decay about 
him. physically or intellectually. He is a tough old oak, that may 
stand all the storms that rage about him for years to come. 



CHAPTER XXm. 

PICTUEES AND PAIAOES. 

Before I turn my back on Rome I have it in my heart 
to give an unprofessional opinion which to many will 
seem only to show my ignorance. A large part of the 
time of most travellers in Europe is spent in wandering 
through palaces and picture galleries, neither of which 
I undertake to describe for the best of all reasons, that 
I know so little about art or architecture. I do not pro- 
fess to be a critic in either. But I have certain general 
impressions, which I may express with due modesty, and 
yet with frankness, and which may perchance accord 
with the impressions of some other very plain, but not 
quite unintelligent, people. 

One who has not been abroad — I might almost say, 
who has not lived abroad — cannot realize how much art 
takes hold of the imagination of a people, and enters 
into their very life. It is the form in which Italian 
genius has most often expressed itself. What poetry is 
in some countries, art is in Italy. England had great 
poets in the days of Elizabeth, but no great painters, at 
a time when the churches and galleries of Italy were 
illumined by the genius of Raphael and Titian and 
Leonardo da Vinci. 

The products of such genius have been a treasure 
to Italy and to the world. Works of art are immortal. 
Raphael is dead, but the Transfiguration lives. As the 
paintings of great masters accumulated from century to 
century, they were gathered in pubHc or private collec- 
tions, which became, like the Kbraries of universities, 
storehouses for the dehght and instruction of mankind. 
Such works justly command the homage and reverence 



PICTURES AND PALACES. 237 

which are due to the highest creations of the human 
intellect. The man who has put on canvas conceptions 
which are worthy to hve, has left a legacy to the human 
race. "When I think," said an old monk, who was 
accustomed to show paintings on the walls of his mon- 
astery, "how men come, generation after generation, to 
see these pictures, and how they pass away, but these 
remain, I sometimes think that these are the realiiies, and 
that we are the shadows." 

But with all this acknowledgment of the genius that 
is immortal, and that gives delight to successive gen- 
erations, there are one or two drawbacks to the pleas- 
ure I have derived from these great collections of art. 

In the first place, there is the embarrassment of riches. 
One who undertakes to visit all the picture galleries, 
even of a single city Kke Rome or Florence, soon finds 
himself overwhelmed by their number. He goes on day 
after day, racing from one to another, looking here and 
there in the most hurried manner, till his mind becomes 
utterly confused, and he gains no definite impression. 
It is as impossible to study with care all these pictures, 
as it would be to read all the books in a public library, 
which are not intended to be read by wholesale, but 
only to be used for reference. So with the great col- 
lections of paintings, which are arranged in a certain 
order, to give an idea of the style of different countries, 
such as the Dutch school, the Venetian school, etc. 
These are very useful for one who wishes to trace the 
history of art, but the ordinary traveller does not care 
to go into such detaiL To him a smaller number of 
pictures, carefully chosen, would give more pleasure and 
more instruction. 

Further, it has seemed to me that, with all the genius 
of the old masters, which no one is more ready to con- 
fess, there is sometimes a worship of them, that is 



238 PICTUKES AND PALACES. 

extended to all their works without discrimination, 
which is not the result of personal observation, nor 
quite consistent with mental independence. Indeed, 
there are few things in which the empire of fashion is 
more absolute and more despotic. It is at this point 
that I meekly offer a protest. I admit fully and grate- 
fully the marvellous genius of some of the old painters, 
but I cannot admit that everything they touched was 
equally good. Homer sometimes nods, and even Raphael 
and Titian, great as they are, are not always equal to 
themselves. Raphael worked very rapidly, as is shown 
by tLo number of pictures which he left, although he 
died a young man. Of course, his works are very 
unequal, and we may aU exercise our taste in preferring 
some to others. 

In another respect it seems to me that there is a lim- 
itation of the greatness even of the old masters, viz., in 
the range of their subjects, in which I find a singular 
monotony. In the numberless galleries that we have 
visited this summer, I have observed in the old pictures, 
with all their power of drawing and richness of color, a 
remai'kable sameness, both of subject and of treatment. 
Even the greatest artists have their manner, which one 
soon comes to recognize ; so that he is rarely mistaken 
in designating the painter. I know a picture of Rubens 
anywhere by the colossal limbs that start out of the can- 
vas. Paul Veronese always spreads himself over a large 
surface, where he has room to bring in a great number 
of figures, and to introduce details of architecture. Give 
him the Marriage at Cana, or a Royal Feast, and he will 
produce a picture which wiU fiu-nish the whole end of a 
palace hall. It is very grand, of course ; but when one 
sees a constant recurrence of the same general style, he 
recognizes the limitations of the painter's genius. Or, to 
go from large pictures to small ones, there is a Dutch 



PICTURES AIO) PALACES. 239 

artist, "Wouvermans, whose pictures are in every gallery 
in Europe. I have seen hundreds of them, and not one 
in which he does not introduce a white horse ! 

Even the greatest of the old masters seem to have 
exercised their genius upon a limited number of sub- 
jects. During the Middle Ages art was consecrated 
almost whoUy to religion. Some of the painters were 
themselves devout men, and wrought with a feeling of 
religious devotion. Fra Angelico was a monk (in the 
same monastery at Florence with Savonarola), and 
regarded his art as a kind of priesthood, going from 
his prayers to his painting, and from his painting to his 
prayers. Others felt the same influence, though in a 
less degree. In devoting themselves to aii;, they were 
moved at once by the inspiration of genius and the 
inspiration of religion. Others still, who were not at all 
saintly in their lives, painted for churches and convents. 
Thus, from one cause or another, almost all the art of 
that day was employed to illustrate religious subjects. 
Of these there was one that was before all others — the 
Holy Family, or the Virgin and her Child. This appears 
and reappears in every possible form. We can under- 
stand the attraction of such a subject to an artist ; for 
to him the Virgin was the ideal of womanhood, to paint 
whom was to embody his conception of the most exquis- 
ite womanly sweetness and grace. And in this how well 
did the old masters succeed ! No one who has a spark 
of taste or sensibility can deny the exquisite beauty of 
some of their pictures of the Virgin — the tenderness, the 
grace, the angelic purity. What sweetness have they 
given to the face of the young mother, with downcast 
look, yet flushed with the first dawning of maternal love ! 
What affection looks out of those tender eyes ! In the 
celebrated picture of Raphael in the Gallery at Florence, 
called the Madonna of the Chair, the Virgin is seated, 



240 PICTUBES AND PALACES. 

and clasps her child to her breast, who turns his large 
eyes, with a wondering gaze, at the world in which he is 
to live and to suffer, while the lovehness of the young 
mother is almost divine. 

But of all the Madonnas that I have ever looked upon, 
the one that has taken hold of my imagination is that in 
the Gallery at Dresden by Raphael, where the Virgin is 
not seated, but standing erect at her full height, with 
the clouds under her feet, soaring to heaven with the 
Christ-child in her arms. The room that is set apart to 
that picture (for no other is worthy to keep it company), 
is like a chapel for worship : every one speaks in whis- 
pers, as if ordinary conversation were an impertinence ; 
as if it would break the speU of that sacred presence. 

Something of the same effect (some would call it even 
greater) is produced by Titian's or Murillo's painting of 
the Assumption of the Virgin — that is, her being caught 
up into the clouds, with the angels hovering round her, 
over her head and under her feet. One of these is at 
Venice, and the other in the Lou^a'e at Paris. In both 
the central fig-ui'e is floating, like that of Christ in the 
Transfiguration. The Assumption is a favorite subject 
of the old masters, and reappears everywhere ; as does 
the Annunciation by the Angel of the approaching birth 
of Christ ; the Nativity ; and the coming of the Magi to 
adore the holy child. There is not a gallery in Italy, 
and hardly a private collection, in which there are not 
Nativities and Assumptions and Annunciations. 

But if some of these pictures are indeed wonderful, 
there are others which are not at all divine ; which are 
of the earth, earthy ; in which the Virgin is nothing 
more than a pretty woman, chosen as a type of female 
beauty (just as a Greek sculptor woidd aim to give his 
ideal in a statue of Venus), painted sometimes on a Jew- 
ish, but more often on an Italian, model. In Holland 



PICTUEES AND PALACES. 241 

the Madonnas have a decidedly Dutch style of beauty, 
over which travellers from other countries may be par- 
doned if they do not go into raptures. 

When the old masters, after painting the Virgin Mary, 
venture on an ideal of our Lord himself, they are less 
successful, because the subject is more difficult. Who 
can paint that blessed countenance, so full of love and 
sorrow ; that brow, heavy with care ; that eye so tender ? 
I have seen hiindreds of Ecce Homos, but not one that 
comes up to the simpler, but clearer, conception that I 
form from reading the New Testament. 

But if it seems almost presumption to attempt to 
paint our Saviour, what shall we say to the introduction 
of the Supreme Being upon the canvas? Yet this 
appears very often in the paintings of the old masters. 
It was perhaps suggested by the Greek sculptors, who 
made statues of the gods for their temples. As fchey 
undertook to give the head of Jupiter, these Christian 
artists thought they could paint the Almighty! Not 
unfrequently they give the three persons of the Trinity 
— the Father being represented as an old man with a 
long beard, floating on a cloud, the Spirit as a dove, 
while the Son is indicated by a human form bearing a 
cross. These are things beyond the reach of art. What- 
ever genius may be in certain artistic details, the picture 
is, and must be, a failure, because it is an attempt to 
paint the unpaintable. 

Next to Madonnas and Holy Families, the old masters 
delight in the painting of saints and martyrs. Here 
again the same subjects recur with wearying uniformity. 
I should be afraid to say how many times I have seen 
St. Lawrence stretched on his gridiron ; and youthful 
St. Sebastian bound to a tree, and pierced with arrows ; 
and old St. Anthony in the desert, assaulted by the 
temptations of the devil. No doubt these were blessed 



242 PICTUEES AND PAIACfS. 

martyrs, but after being exhibited for so many centuries 
to the gaze of the world, we can but think it would be a 
relief for them to retire to the enjoyment of the heavenly 
paradise. 

Is it not, then, a just criticism of those who painted 
all those Madonnas and saints and martyrs, to say, while 
admitting their transcendent genius, that still their works 
present a magnificent monotony, both of subject and of 
treatment, and at last weary the eye by their intermina- 
ble splendors ? 

Another point in which the same works are signally 
defective, is in the absence of landscape painting. It 
has been often remarked of the classic poets, that while 
they describe human actions and passions, they show a 
total insensibility to the beauties of nature. The same 
deficiency appears in the paintings of the old masters. 
Seldom do they attempt landscape. Sometimes a clump 
of trees, or a ghmpse of sky, is introduced as a back- 
ground for figures, but it is almost always subordinate 
to the general effect. 

Here, then, it is no undue assumption to say that the 
artists of the present day are not only the equals of the 
old masters, but their superiors. They have learned of 
the Mighty Mother herself. They have communed with 
nature. They have felt the ineffable beauty of the woods 
and lakes and rivers, of the mountains and the meadows, 
of the valleys and the hills, of the clouds and skies, and 
in painting these have led us into a new world of beauty. 
I feel like standing up for the Modems against the 
Ancients, and saying that I have derived as much pleas- 
ure from some of the pictures which I have seen at the 
Exhibitions in London and Paris, and even in New York, 
as from any except a few hundred of the very best of the 
pictures which I have seen here. 

I am led to speak thus freely, because I am slightly 



PICTURES AND PAiACES. 243 

disgusted with the abject servility in this matter of many 
foreign tourists. I see them going through these gal- 
leries, guide-book in hand, consulting it at every step, to 
know what they must admire, and not daring to express 
an opinion, nor even to enjoy what they see, until they 
turn to what is said by Murray or Baedeker. Of course 
guide-books are useful, and even necessary, and one can 
hardly go into a gallery without one, to serve at least as 
a catalogue, but a book must not take the place of one's 
own eyes. If we are ever to know anything of art, we 
must begin, however modestly, to exercise our own judg- 
ment. While, therefore, I would have every traveller 
use his guide-book freely, I would have him use stiU 
more his eyes and his brain, and try to cultivate his own 
taste by exercising it. 

Is it not time for Americans, who boast so much of 
their independence, to show a little of it here ? Some 
come abroad only to learn to despise their own country. 
For my part, the more I see of other countries, while 
appreciating them fully, the more I love my own ; I love 
its scenery, its landscapes, and its homes, and its men 
and women ; and while I wovild not commit the oppo- 
site mistake of a foolish conceit of everything American, 
I think our artists show a fair share of talent, which 
can best be developed by a constant study of nature. 
Nature is greater than the old masters. What sunset 
ever painted by Claude or Poussin equals, or even 
approaches, what we often see when the sun sinks in 
the west, covering the clouds with gold? If our artists 
are to paint sunsets, let them not go to picture galleries, 
but out of doors, and behold the glory of the dying day. 
Let them paint nature as they see it at home. Nature 
is not fairer in Italy than in America. Let them paint 
American landscapes, giving, if they can, the beauty of 
our autumnal woods, and all the glory of the passing 



244 PICTURES AND PALACES. 

year. If they will keep closely to nature, instead of 
copying old masters, they may produce an original, as 
well as a true and genuine, school of art, and will fill 
our galleries and our homes with beauty. 

From Pictures to Palaces is an easy transition, as 
these are the temples in which works of art are enshrined. 
Many years ago, when I first came to London, Fanny 
Kemble took me to see Stafford House, the residence of 
the Duke of Sutherland, saying that it was much finer 
than Buckingham Palace, and " the best they had to 
show in England," but that, " of course, it was nothing 
to what I should see on the Continent, and especially in 
Italy." Since then I have visited palaces in almost every 
capital in Europe. I find indeed that Italy excels all 
other countries in architecture, as she does in another 
form of art. When her cities were the richest in Europe, 
drawing to themselves the commerce and the wealth of 
the East, it was natural that the doges and dukes and 
princes should display their magnificence in the rearing 
of costly palaces. These, whilB they differ in details, 
have certain general features in which they are all ahke 
— stately proportions, grand entrances, broad staircases, 
lofty ceilings, apartments of immense size, with columns 
of porphyry and alabaster and lapis lazuU, and pave- 
ments of mosaic or tessellated marble, with no end of 
costliness in decoration ; ceilings loaded with carving 
and gilding, and walls hung with tapestries, and adorned 
with paintings by the fii'st masters in the world. Such 
is many a palace that one may see to-day in Genoa and 
Venice, in Florence and Rome. 

If Americans feel a touch of envy at the tale of such 
magnificence, it may comfort them to hear that probably 
their own homes, though much less splendid, are a great 
deal more comfortable. These palaces were not built 
for comfort, but for pride and for show. They are well 



PICTURES AND PALACES. 245 

enough for courts and for state occasions, but not for 
ordinary life. They have few of those comforts which 
we consider indispensable in our American homes. It 
is almost impossible to keep them warm. Their vast 
halls are cold and dreary. The pavements of marble 
and mosaic are not half so comfortable as a plain wooden 
floor covered with a cai'pet. There is no gas — they are 
lighted only with candles ; while the liberal supply of 
water which we have in our American cities is unknown. 
A lady living in one of the grandest palaces in Rome 
tells me that every drop of water used by her family has 
to be carried up those tremendous staircases, to ascend 
which is almost Kke climbing the Leaning Tower of Pisa. 
Of coui'se a bath is a luxury, and not, as with us, an uni- 
versal comfort. Nowhere do I find such a supply of 
that necessary element of household cleanliness and per- 
sonal health, as we have in New York, furnished by a 
river running through the heart of the city, carrying life, 
as well as luxury, into every dwelling. 

The Enghsh-speaking race understand the art of 
domestic architecture better than any other in the 
world. They may not build such grand palaces, but 
they know how to build homes. In country houses we 
shoidd have to yield the palm to the tasteful Enghsh 
cottages, but in city houses I should claim it for Amer- 
ica, for the simple reason that, as our cities are newer, 
there are many improvements of modern construction 
unknown before. 

When Prince Napoleon was in New York, he said 
that there was more comfort in one of oui* best houses 
than he found in the Palais Royal in Paris. And I can 
well believe it. I doubt if there is a city in the world 
where there is a gTeater number of private dwellings 
which are more thoroughly comfortable, well warmed 
and well lighted, well ventilated and well drained, with 



24G PICTURES AND PALACES. 

hot and cold baths everywhere : luxuries that are not 
always found even in kings' palaces. 

But it is not of our rich city houses that I make my 
boast, but of the tens of thousands of country homes, 
that are fuU of comfort, of sunshine and of peace. These 
are the things which make a nation happy, and which 
are better than the palaces of Venice or of Kome. 

And so the result of all our observations has been to 
make us contented with our modest repubhcan ways. 
Often, while wandering through these marble haUs, have 
I looked away from all this splendor to a happy country 
beyond the sea, and whispered to myself, 

** 'Mid pleasures and palaces, wherever I roam. 
Bo it ever so humble, there's no place like home." 



CHAPTEE XXIV. 

NAPLES. — POMPEU AND P^STUM. 

" See Naples and die ! " is an Italian proverb, which, 
it must be confessed, is putting it rather strongly, but 
which still expresses, with pardonable exaggeration, the 
popular sense of the surpassing beauty of this city and 
its environs. Florence, lying in the valley of the Ai-no, 
as seen from the top of Fiesole, is a vision of beauty ; 
but here, instead of a river flowing between nai'rovv 
banks, there opens before us a bay that is like a sea, 
aUve with ships, with beautiful islands, and in the back- 
ground Vesuvius, with its column of smoke ever rising 
against the sky. The bay of Naples is said to be the 
most beautiful in the world ; its only rival is in another 
hemisphere — in the bay of Rio Janeiro. It must be 
fifty miles in circuit (it is nineteen miles across from 
Naples to Sorrento), and the whole shore is dotted with 
villages, so that when lighted up at night, it seems gir- 
dled ydth. watch-fires. 

Around this broad-armed bay. Summer lingers after 
she has left the north of Italy. Not only vineyards and 
olive groves cover the southern slopes, but palm trees 
grow in the open air. Here the old Romans loved to 
come and sun themselves in this soft atmosphere. On 
yonder island of Capri are still seen the ruins of the 
palace of Tiberius; Cicero had a villa at Pompeii ; and 
Virgil, though bom at Mantua, wished to rest in death 
upon these milder shores, and here, at the entrance of 
the grotto of Posilippo, they still point out his tomb. 

In its interior Naples is a great contrast to Rome. It 
is not only larger — indeed, it is much the largest city 
in Italy — but brighter and gayer. Rome is dark and 



248 NAPLES.— -POMPEH A^) P^STUM. 

sombre, always reminding one of the long-buried past ; 
Naples seems to live only in the present, -without a 
thought either of the past or of the future. The two 
cities I have heard thus contrasted : " Naples is Uie : Borne 
is death ! " Indeed, we have here a spectacle of extra- 
ordinary animation. No city in Europe offers a greater 
variety of figures and costumes, as rich and poor, princes 
and beggars, soldiers and priests, jostle each other in 
the noisy, laughing crowd. 

Even the poorest of the people have something pic- 
turesque in their poverty. The lazzaroni are the lowest 
class of the population, such as may be found in all large 
cities, and are generally the most disgusting and repul- 
sive. But here, owing to the warm chmate, they live 
out of doors, and the rags and dirt, which elsewhere are 
hidden in garrets and cellars, are paraded in the streets, 
making them like a Eag Fair. One may see a host of 
young beggars — little imps, worthy sons of their fathers 
— flying on the sidewalk, asleep in the sun, or cooUy 
picking the vermin from their bodies, or showing their 
dexterity in holding aloft a string of macaroni, and let- 
ting it descend into their mouths, and then running after 
the carriage for a penny. 

The streets are very narrow, very crowded, and very 
noisy. From morning to night they are filled with peo- 
ple, and resound with the cries of market-men and 
women, who make a perfect Bedlam. Little donkeys, 
which seem to be the universal carryalls, come along 
laden with fruit, grapes, and vegetables. The loads put 
on these poor beasts are quite astonishing. Though not 
much bigger than Newfoundland dogs, each one has two 
huge panniers hung at his sides, that are filled with all 
sorts of produce which the peasants are bringing to 
market. Often the poor little creature is so covered up 
that he is hardly visible imder his load, and might not 



NAPLES. — POMPEn AND P^STUM. 249 

be discovered, but that the heap seems to be in motion, 
and a pair of long ears is seen to project through the 
superincumbent mass, and an occasional bray from 
beneath sounds like a cry for pity. 

The riding carts of the laboring people also have a 
power of indefinite multiplication of the contents they 
carry. I thought, that an Irish jaunting-car would hold 
about as many human creatures as anything that went 
on wheels, but it is quite sui-passed by the country carts 
one sees around Naples, in which a mere rat of a donkey 
scuds along before an indescribable vehicle, on which 
half a dozen men are stuck like so many pegs (of course 
they stand, for there is not room for them to sit), with 
women also, and a baby or two, and a fat priest in 
the bargain, and two or three urchins dangling behind 1 
Sometimes, for convenieuce, babies and vegetables are 
packed in the same basket, and swung below ! 

With such variety in the streets, one need not go out 
of the city for entertainment. And yet the charm of 
Naples is in its environs, and one who should spend a 
month or two here, might make constant excursions to 
points along the bay, which are attractive alike by their 
natural beauty and their historical interest. He may 
follow the shore from Ischia clear round to Capri, and 
enjoy a succession of beautiful points, as the shore-line 
curves in and out, now running into some sheltered 
nook, where the olive groves grow thick in the southern 
sun, and then coming to a headland that juts out into 
the sea. Few things can be more enchanting than such 
a ride along the bay to Baise on one side, or from Castel- 
lamare to Sorrento and Amalfi, on the other. 

Our first visit was to Pompeii, so interesting by its 
melancholy fate, and by the revelations of ancient life in 
its recent excavations. It was destroyed in an eruption 
of Vesuvius in the reign of Titus, in the year 79, and 



250 NAPLES. — 20MPEa AND P^ESTUM. 

SO completely was it buried that for seventeen hundred 
years its very site was not known. It was only about 
the middle of the last century that it was discovered, 
and not till within a few years that e"xcavations were 
prosecuted with much vigor. Now the city is uncov- 
ered, the roofs are taken off from the houses, and we can 
look down into the very homes of the people, and see 
the interior of their dwellings, and the details of their 
domestic life. 

For four or five hours we were exploring this buried 
city, going with a guide from street to street, and from 
house to house, walking over the very pavements that 
were laid before our Saviour was born, the stones still 
showing the ruts worn by the wheels of Roman chariots 
two thousand years ago ! 

Examining the houses in detail, we found them, while 
differing in costliness (some of them, such as those of 
Diomed and Sallust and Polybius, being dwellings of 
the rich), very much alike in their general arrangement. 
All seemed to be buUt on an Oriental model, designed 
for a hot climate, with a court in the centre, where 
often a fountain filled the air with dehcious coolness, and 
lulled to rest those who sought in the rooms which 
opened on the court a retreat from the heat of the 
summer noon. From this central point of the house, 
one may go through the different apartments — bedroom 
dining-room, and kitchen — and see how the people 
cooked their food, and where they ate it ; where they 
dined and where they slept ; how they lay down and 
how they rose up. In almost every house there is a 
niche for the Penates, or household gods, which occu- 
pied a place in the dwellings of the old Pompeiians, 
such as is given by devout Catholics to images of the 
Virgin and saints at the present day. 

But that which excites the greatest wonder is the 



NAPLES. — POMPEU AND P^STUM. 251 

decorations of the houses — the paintings on the walls, 
which in their grace of form and richness of color are 
stm subjects of admiration, and furnish models to archi- 
tects and decorators. A great number of these have 
been removed to the Museum at Naples, where artists 
are continually studying and copying them. In this 
matter of decorative art, Wendell Phillips might well 
claim — as he did in his eloquent lecture on the Lost Arts 
— that there are many things in which the ancients, 
whether Eomans, Greeks, or Egyptians, were superior 
to the boastful moderns. 

The luxury of those times is seen in the public baths, 
which are fitted up with furnaces for heating the water, 
and pipes for conveying it, and rooms for reclining and 
cooling one's seK after the bath, and other refinements 
of luxury, which we had vainly conceived belonged only 
to modern civilization. 

From the houses we pass to the shops, and here we 
find all the signs of active life, as if the work had been 
interrupted only yesterday. Passing along the street, 
one sees the merchant's store, the apothecary's shop, and 
the blacksmith's forge. True, the fire is extinguished, 
and the utensils which have been discovered have been 
carried off to the Museum at Naples ; but it needs only 
to light up the coals, and we might hear again the ring 
on the anvils where the hammer fell, struck by hands 
that have been dust for centuries. And here is a bakery, 
with aU the implements of the trade : the stone mills 
standing in their place for grinding the corn (is it not 
said that " two shall be grinding at the mill ; one shall 
be taken and the other left " ? ) ; the vessels for the floau' 
and for water, the trough for kneading the bread, and 
the oven for baking — long brick ovens they are, just like 
those in which our New England mothers were wont to 
bake their Thanksgiving pies. Nay, we have some of 



252 NAPLES. — POMPEH AND PffiSTUM. 

the bread that was baked, loayes of which are still pre- 
served, charred and blackened by the fire, and possibly 
might be eaten, although the bread is decidedly well done. 

The most imposing structures that have been uncov- 
ered are the pubUc buildings in the Forum and else- 
where — the basilica for the administration of justice ; 
the theatres for games ; and the temples for the worship 
of the gods. 

As to the probable loss of life in the destruction of 
the city, we conclude that it was not very great in pro- 
portion to the population, though we have no means of 
knowing exactly the number of inhabitants. Murray's 
Guide Book says 30,000, but a careful measurement 
shows that not more than 12,000 could have been within 
the walls, whUe perhaps as many more were outside of 
it. As yet there have been discovered not more than 
six hundred skeletons ; so that it is probable that the 
greater number made their escape. 

But even these — though few compared with the whole 
— are enough to disclose, by their attitudes, the agony of 
their terrible fate. From their postures, it is plain that 
the inhabitants were seized with mortal terror when 
destruction came upon them. Many were found with 
their bodies prone on the earth, who had evidently 
thrown themselves down, and buried their faces in their 
hands, as if to hide from their eyes the danger that was 
in the air. Some tried to escape with their treasures. 
In one house there were five skeletons, with bracelets 
and rings of gold, silver, and bronze, lying on the pave- 
ment. A woman was found with four rings on one of 
her fingers, set with precious stones, with gold bracelets 
and earrings and pieces of money. Her avarice or her 
vanity may have proved her destruction. But the hard- 
est fate was that of those who could not fly, as captives 
chained in their dungeons. Three skeletons were found 



NAPLES. — POMPEII AND P^STUM. 253 

in a prison, with the manacles still on their fleshless 
hands. Even dumb beasts shared in the general catas- 
trophe. The horse that had lost its rider pawed and 
neighed in vain ; and the dog that howled at his mas- 
ter's gate, but would not leave him, shared his fate. The 
skeletons of both are still preserved. 

Altogether, the most vivid account which has been 
given of the overthrow of the city, is by the English 
novelist, Bulwer, in his " Last Days of Pompeii." He 
pictures a great crowd collected for gladiatorial com- 
bats. That the people had these cruel sports, is shown 
by the amphitheatre which remains to this day ; and 
the greatest number of skeletons in any one spot was 
thirty-six, in a building for the training of gladiators. 
In the amphitheatre, according to the novelist, the peo- 
ple were assembled when the destruction came. The 
lion had been let loose, but, more sensitive than man to 
the strange disturbance in the elements, crept round the 
arena, instead of bounding on his prey, losing his nat- 
ural ferocity in the sense of terror. Beasts in the dens 
below filled the air with howls, till the assembly, roused 
from the eager excitement of the combat, at length 
looked upward, and in the darkening sky above them 
read the sign of then- approaching doom. 

But no high-wrought description can add to the 
actual terror of that day, as recounted by historians. 
There are some things which cannot be overdrawn, and 
even Bulwer does not present to the imagination a 
greater scene of horror than the plain narrative of the 
younger Pliny, who was himself a witness of the destruc- 
tion of Pompeii from the bay, and whose uncle, advan- 
cing nearer to get a better view, perished. 

Next to Pompeii in interest is Psestum, some fifty 
miles below Naples, the ruins of which are second only 
to those of the Parthenon. Aa the excursion took two 



254 NAPLES. — ^POMPEH AND P^ISTUM. 

days, we divided it, going first to Sorrento, on the south- 
em shore of the bay, one of the most beautiful spots 
around Naples, a kind of eyrie, or eagle's nest, perched 
on the clif^ and looking off upon the glittering waters. 
Here we were joined by a German lady and her daugh- 
ter, whom we had met before in Florence and in Home, 
and who are to be our travelling companions in the 
East ; and who added much to our pleasure as we pic- 
nicked the next day in the Temple of Neptune. With 
our party thus doubled we rode along the shore over 
that most beautiful drive from Sorrento to CasteUamare, 
and went on to Salerno to pass the night, from which 
the excursion to Psestum is easily made the next day. 

Notwithstanding the great interest of this excursion, 
it has been made less frequently than it woidd have been 
but for the fact that, until quite recently, the road has 
been infested by brigands, who had an unpleasant habit 
of starting up by the roadside with blunderbusses in 
their hands, and assisting you to alight fi'om the car- 
riage, and taking you for an excursion into the moun- 
tains, from which a message was sent to j^our friends in 
Naples, that on the deposit of a thousand pounds or so 
at a certain place, you would be returned safely ! If 
friends were a little slow in taking this hint, and coming 
to the rescue, sometimes an ear of the unfortunate cap- 
tive was cut off and sent to the city as a gentle reminder 
of what awaited him if the money was not forthcoming 
immediately. Of course, it did not need many such 
warnings to squeeze the last drop of blood out of friends, 
who eagerly drained themselves to save a kinsman, who 
had fallen into the jaws of the lion, from a horrible fate. 

That these were not idle tales told to fi-ighten travel- 
lers, we had abundant evidence. Within a very few 
years there have been repeated adventures of the kind. 
An English gentleman whom we met at Salerno, who 



NAPLES. — POMPEn AND PJilSTUM. 255 

had lived some forty years in this part of Italy, told ns 
that the stories were not at all exaggerated ; that one 
gang of bandits had their headquarters but half a mile 
from his house, and that when captured they confessed 
that they had often lain in wait for him ! 

These pleasing reminiscences gave a cheerful zest to 
the prospect of our journey on the morrow, although at 
present there is little danger. But of late years brigand- 
age, like a good many other old institutions, has been got 
rid of. Our English friend last saw his former neighbors 
as he was riding in a carriage, and three of them passed 
him, going to be shot. Since then the danger has been 
removed ; and still it gives one a little excitement to 
drive where such incidents were common only a few 
years ago, and even now it is not at all disagreeable to 
see soldiers stationed at different points along the road. 

Though brigandage has passed away here, like many 
another relic of the good old tunes, it still flourishes in 
Sicily, where all efforts to extirpate it have as yet proved 
unsuccessful, and one who is extremely desirous of a 
little adventure may find it without going far outside 
the walls of Palermo. 

But we will not stop to waste words on brigands, 
when we have before us the ruins of PsBstum. As we 
drive over a long, level road, we see in the distance 
the columns of great temples rising over the plain, not 
far from the sea. They are perhaps more impressive 
because standing alone, not in the midst of a populous 
city like the Parthenon, with Athens at its base, but like 
Tadmor in the wilderness, solitary and desolate, a won- 
der aud a mystery. Except the custodian of the place, 
there was not a human creature there ; nor a sound to 
be heard save the cawing of crows that flew among the 
columns and lighted on the roof. In such silence we 
approached these vast remains of former ages. The 



256 NAPLES. — POMPEH AND P^STUM. 

builders of these mighty temples have vanished, and no 
man knows even their names. It is not certain by 
whom they were erected. It is supposed by a Greek 
colony that landed on the shores of Southern Italy, and 
there founded cities and built temples at least six hun- 
dred years before the Christian era. The style of archi- 
tecture points to a Greek origin. The huge columns, 
without any base, and with the plain Doric capitals, 
show the same hands that reared the Parthenon. But 
whoever they -were, there were giants in the earth in 
those days ; and the Cyclopean architecture they have 
left puts to shame the pigmy constructions of modern 
times. How small it makes one feel to compare his own 
few years with these hoary monuments of the past ! So 
men pass away, and their names perish, even though the 
structures they have builded may survive a few hundred, 
or a few thousand years. "What lessons on the greatness 
and littleness of man have been read under the shadow 
of these giant columns. Hither came Augustus, in 
whose reign Christ was born, to visit ruins that were 
ancient even in his day. Here, where a Csesar stood two 
thousand years ago, the traveller from another continent 
(though not from New Zealand) stands to-day — at Pses- 
tum, as at Pompeii — to reflect on the fate which over- 
takes aU human things, and at last whelms man and his 
works in one undistinguishable ruin. 



CHAPTER XXV. 

THE ASCENT OF VESUVIUS. 

Our excursion to Vesuvius was delayed for some days 
to await the arrival of the Franklin, which was to bring 
us the lieutenant who was our travelling companion in 
Germany last summer, and who wished to make the 
ascent in ovx company. At length the firing of heavy 
guns told us that the great ship was coming into the 
harbor, and we were soon on board, where we received 
a hearty welcome, not only from oiu' kinsman, but from 
all the officers. The Frankhn is the flag-ship of ouj* 
European squadron, and bears the flag of Admu-al John 
L. Worden, the gallant officer whose courage and skill 
in fighting the Monitor against the Merrimack in Hamp- 
ton Roads in 1862, saved the country in an hour of 
imminent peril. Well do we remember the terror in 
New York caused by the tidings of the sinking of the 
Congress and the Cumberland by that first ironclad — 
a new sea monster whose powers of destruction were 
unknown, and which we expected to see within a week 
sailing up our harbor, and demanding the surrender of 
the cit3\ From this and other dangers, which we shud- 
der to contemplate, we were saved by the little Monitor 
on that eventful day. As Admiral Worden commands 
the European squadron, the ship is commanded by an 
officer who bears the same honored name as the ship 
itself, Captain Franklin. He is surrounded by a fine set 
of officers, whom we are very proud to see representing 
our covmtry. As we made frequent visits to the ship, 
we came to feel quite at home. Not the least pleasant 
part of these visits was to meet several American ladies 
— the wife and daughters of Admiral Worden, and the 



25$ THE ASCENT OF VESDVroS. 

wife of Captain Franklin. Men who have rendered dis- 
tinguished services to their country are certainly entitled 
to a Httle domestic comfort on their long voyages ; while 
the presence of such ladies is a benefit to aU on board. 
When men are alone, whether in camp or on a ship, they 
are apt to become a little rough, and the mere presence 
of a noble woman has a refining influence over them. 
I can see it here in these young officers, who all have a 
chivalrous feehng towards those who remind them of 
their own mothers and sisters at home. 

To their company we are indebted for much of the 
pleasure of our excursion to Vesuvius. A large party 
was made up from the ship, which included the family 
of Admiral Worden, Captain and Mrs. Franklin, and half 
a dozen lieutenants. Our excellent consul at Naples, 
Mr. Duncan, and his sister, were also with us. Filling 
four carriages, away we went through the streets of 
Naples at a furious rate ; sweeping round the bay (along 
which, as we looked through arched passages to the 
right, we could see villas and gardens stretching down 
to the waters), till we reached Resina, which stands on 
the site of buried Herculaneum. Here we tiu'ued to the 
left, and began the ascent. And now we found it well 
that our drivers had harnessed three stout horses abreast 
to each carriage, as we had a hard cKmb upward along 
the blackened sides of the mountain. 

We soon perceived the widespread ruin wrought by 
successive eruptions of the volcano. Over all this moun- 
tain side had rolled a deluge of fire, and on every hand 
were strewn the wrecks of the mighty desolation. On 
either side stretched miles and miles of lava, which had 
flowed here and there slowly and sluggishly like molten 
iron, turning when interrupted in its course, and twisted 
into a thousand shapes. 

But if this was a feai'ful sight, there was something 



THE ASCENT OF VESUVIUS. 259 

to relieve the eye, as we looked away in the distance. 
As we mounted higher, we commanded a wider view, 
and never was there a more glorious panorama than that 
which was unrolled at our feet on that October morning, 
with the bay of Naples flashing in the sunlight, with the 
beautiful islands of Ischia and Capri lying, like guardian 
fortresses, off its mouth, and ships coming and going to 
aU parts of the Mediterranean. 

Though we had left Naples at nine o'clock, it was 
noon before we reached the Observatory — a station 
which the Italian Government has established on the 
side of the mountain for the purpose of meteorological 
observations. This is the limit to which carriages can 
ascend, and here we rested for an hour. Our watchful 
lieutenants had provided a substantial lunch, which the 
steward spread in a little garden overlooking the bay, 
and there assembled as merry a group of Americans as 
ever gathered on the sides of Vesuvius. 

From the Observatory, those who would spare any 
unnecessary fatigue may take mules a mile farther to 
the foot of the cone, but our party preferred the excite- 
ment of the walk after our long ride. In ascending the 
cone, no foiir-footed beast is of any service ; one must 
depend on his own strong limbs, unless he chooses to 
accept the aid of some of the fierce-looking attendants 
who offer their services as porters. A lady may take a 
chair, and for forty francs be carried quite to the top on 
the shotJders of four stout fellows. But the more com- 
mon way is to take two assistants, one to go forward 
who drags you up by a strap attached round his waist, 
to which you hold fast for dear life, while another pushes 
behind. Our young lady had three escorts. She drove 
a handsome team of two ahead, while a third lubberly 
fellow was trying to make himself useful, or, at least, to 
earn his money, by putting his hands on her shoulders. 



260 THE ASCENT OF VESUVIUS. 

and thus urging her forward. I was the only person 
of the party, except the Consul and one lieutenant, who 
went up without assistance. I took a man at first, rather 
to get rid of his importunity, but he gave out sooner 
than I did, stopping after a few rods to demand more 
money, whereupon I threw him off in disgust, and made 
the ascent alone. But I would not recommend others 
to follow my example, as the fatigue is really very great, 
especially to one unused to mountain climbing. Not 
only is the cone very steep, but it is covered with ashes ; 
so that one has no firm hold for his feet, but sinks deep 
at every step. Thus he makes slow progress, and is 
soon out of breath. He can only keep on by going 
very slowly. I had to stop every few minutes, and throw 
myseK down in the ashes to rest. But with these little 
delays, I kept steadily mounting higher and higher. 

As we neared the top, the presence of the volcano 
became manifest, not merely from the cloud which always 
hangs about it, but by smoke issuing from many places 
on the side. It seemed as if the mountain were a vast 
smouldering heap out of which the internal heat forced 
its way through every aperture. Here and there a long 
line of smoke seemed to indicate a subterranean fissure 
or vein, through which the pent-up fires forced their 
way. As we crossed theae lines of smoke the sulphur- 
ous fumes were stifling, especially when the vnnd blew 
them in our faces. 

But at last all difficulties were conquered, and we 
stood on the very top, and looked over the verge into 
the crater. 

Those who have never seen a volcano are apt to pic- 
ture it as a taU peak, a slender cone, like a sugar loaf, 
with a round aperture at the top, like the chimney of 
a blast furnace, out of which issues fire and smoke. 
Something of this indeed there it, but the actual scene 



THE ASCENT OF VESUVIUS. 261 

is vastly greater and grander. For, instead of a small 
round opening, like the throat of a chimney, large enough 
for one flaming column, the crater is nearly half a mile 
across, and many hundreds of feet deep ; and one looks 
down into a yawning gnolf, a vast chasm in the moun- 
tain, whose rocky sides are yellow with sulphur, and out 
of which the smoke issues from different places. At 
times it is impossible to see anything, as dense volumes 
of smoke roll upward, which the wind drives toward us, 
so that we are lost in the cloud. Then they drift away, 
and for an instant we can see far down into the bowels 
of the earth. 

Standing on the bald head of Vesuvius, one cannot 
help some grave reflections, if only from the point oi 
view of a man of science. The eruption of a volcano is 
one of the most awful scenes in nature, and makes one 
shudder to think of the elements of destruction that are 
imprisoned in the rocky globe. What desolation has 
been wrought by Vesuvius alone — how it has thrown up 
mountains, laid waste fields, and buried cities i "What 
a spectacle as it has shot up a column not only of smoke, 
but of fire ! Often the flames have risen to the height 
of a mUe above the summit of the mountain, lighting 
up the darkness of the night, and casting a glare over 
the waters of the bay, while the earth was moaning and 
trembling, as if in pain and fear. 

And the forces that have wrought such destruction 
are active still. For two thousand years this volcano 
has been smoking, and yet it is not exhausted. Its fury 
is stiU unspent. Far down in the heart of the earth still 
glow the eternal fires. The terrific forces that are at 
work in the interior of the globe suggest the possibility 
of a final catastrophe, which shall prove the destruction 
of the planet itself. 

If the spectacle bo thus suggestive and threatening to 



262 THE ASCENT OF VKSUVIUS. 

the man of science, it speaks still more distinctly to one 
who has been accustomed to believe in a time coming 
when " the earth, being on fire, shall be dissolved, and 
the elements shall melt with fervent heat," and who sees 
in these ascending flames the prophetic symbol of the 
Dies Irse — the Day of Doom — that shall at last end the 
long tragedy of man's existence on the earth. 

As I stood on the edge of the crater and looked down 
into the awful depths below, it was a scene such as might 
have inspired the description of Dante in his Inferno, or 
of John in the Apocalypse ; as if that dread abyss were 
no unfit symbol of the "lower deep" into which sink 
lost human souls. That "great gulf" was as the VaUey 
of Hell ; its rocky sides, yellow with sulphurous flames 
— how ghstening and sUppery they looked ! — told of a 
"lake of fire and brimstone " seething and boihng below ; 
those yawning caverns which were disclosed as the smoke 
drifted away, were the abodes of despair, and the winds 
that moaned and shrieked around were the wailings of 
the lost ; while the pillar of cloud which is always rising 
from beneath, which " ceases not day nor night," was as 
" the smoke of torment," forever ascending. 

He must be a dull preacher who could not find a 
lesson in that awful scene ; or see reflected in it the 
dangers to which he himself is exposed. Fire is the 
element of destruction, even more than water. The 
" cruel, crawling foam " of the sea, that comes creeping 
towards us to seize and to destroy, is not so treacherous 
as the flames, darting out like serpents' tongues, that 
come creeping upward from the abyss, licking the very 
stones at om: feet, and that seem eager to lick up our 
blood. 

The point where we stood projected over the crater. 
The great eruption three years since had torn away half 
tho cone of the mountain, and now there hung above it 



THE ASCENT OF VESUVIUS. 263 

a ledge, which seemed ready at any moment to break 
and fall into the gulf below. As I stood on that crum- 
bling verge of the volcano, I seemed to be exposed 
to dangers vast and unseen, to powers which blind 
and smother and destroy. Suddenly the bud., that was 
declining in the west, biirst out of the cloud, and cast 
my own shadow on the colmnn of smoke that was rising 
from below. That shadowy form, standing in the air, 
now vanishing, and then reappearing with every flash of 
sunlight, seemed no inapt image of human hfe, a thing of 
shadow, floating in a cloud, and hovering over an abyss ! 

Thus I lingered on the summit to the last, for such 
was the fascination of the scene that I coidd not tear 
myself away, and it was not till all were gone, and I 
found myself quite alone, that I turned and followed 
them down the mountain side. The descent is as rapid 
as the ascent is slow. A few minutes do the work of 
hours, as one plunges down the ash}^ cone, and soon our 
whole party were reassembled at its base. It was five 
o'clock when we took our carriages at the Observatory, 
and quite dark before we got down the mountain, so 
that men with lighted torches had to go before us to 
show the road, and with such flaring flambeaux, and 
much shouting of men and boys, of guides and drivers, 
we came roUing down the sides of Vesuvius, and a little 
after seven o'clock were again ratthng through the streets 
of Naples. 

As our last day in this city was Sunday, we went on 
board the Franklin for a religious service, such as is 
always very grateful to an American far from home. 
The deck of an American ship is like a part of his coun- 
try, a floating island, anchored for the moment to a for- 
eign shore : and as he stands there, and sees around him 
the faces of countrymen, and hears, instead of the lan- 
guage of strangers, his dear old mother tongue, and 



264 THE ASCENT OF VESUVIUS. 

looks up and sees floating above him the flag he loves so 
well, he cannot keep down a trembling in his heart, or 
the tears from his eyes. 

On such a spot, and with such a company, we joined 
in religious worship. The Franklin has an excellent 
chaplain — one who commands the respect of all on 
board, while his kindness and sympathy win their hearts. 
The service was held on the gun-deck, where officers 
and men were assembled, sitting as they could, between 
the cannon. The band played one or two sacred airs, 
and the chaplain read the service, after which it was 
my privilege to preach to this novel congregation of my 
countrymen. 

And so we took leave of the Franklin, with grateful 
memories of the kindness of all, from the Admiral down. 
It is pleasant to see such a body of officers on board 
of one of our national ships. None can realize, except 
those who travel abroad, how much of the good name 
of our country is entrusted to their keeping. They 
go everywhere, they appear in every port of Europe 
and of the world, and are instantly recognized by their 
uniform, and are regarded, more than ordinary travel- 
lers, as the representatives of our country. How pleas- 
ant it is to find them uniformly gentlemen — courteous 
and dignified, preserving their self-respect, while show- 
ing proper respect to others. Such be the men to carry 
the starry flag around the globe I 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

GREECE AND ITS KING. 

If the best proof of our fondness for a place be tliat 
we leave it with regret, few cities wiU stand higher in 
OUT remembrance than Naples, from which we turned 
away with many a lingering- look, as we waved our adieus 
to our friends, who answered us from the deck of the 
Frankhn, Never did the bay look more beautiful than 
that Monday afternoon, as we sailed away by Capri and 
Sorrento, and Amalfi and the Bay of Salerno. The sea 
was calm, the sky was fair. The coast, with its rocky 
headlands and deeply indented bays, was in full sight, 
while behind rose the Apennines. The friends who 
were to be our companions in the East were with us, 
adding to our animation by their own, as we sat upon 
the deck till the evening drew on. As the sun went 
down, it cast Such a light over the sea, that the ship 
seemed to be swimming in glory, aS we floated along 
the beautiful Itahan shores. A little before morning we 
passed through the Straits of Messina, between Scylla 
and Charybdis, leaving Mount Etna on our right, and 
then for an hour or two stood off the coast of Calabria, 
till, we ran out of sight of land, into the open sea of the 
Mediterranean. 

Wednesday found us among the Ionian islands, and 
we soon came in sight of the Morea, a part of the main- 
land of Greece. We had been told to watch, as we 
approached Athens, for sunset on the Parthenon ; but 
it was not till long after dark that we entered the harbor 
of the Piraeus, and saw the lights on the shore, and our 
first experience was anything but romantic. At ten 
o'clock we were cast ashore in darkness and in rain ; so 



266 GREECE AND ITS EINO. 

that instead of feeling any inspiration, we felt only that 
we were very wet and very cold. While the commis- 
sionaire went to call a carriage, we waited for a few 
moments in a cafe, which was filled with Greek soldiers 
who were drinking and smoking, and looked more like 
brigands than the lawful defenders of life and property. 
Such was our introduction to the classic soU of Greece. 
But the scene was certainly picturesque enough to sat- 
isfy our young spirits (for I have two such now in 
charge), who are always looking out for adventures. 
Soon the carriage came, and splashing through the mud, 
we drove to Athens, and at midnight found welcome rest 
in our hoteL 

But sunrise clears away the darkness, and we look 
out of our balcony on a pleasant prospect. We are in 
the Hotel Grande Bretagne, facing the principal square, 
and adjoining the Eoyal Palace, in front of which the 
band comes every day to play under the King's windows. 
Before us rises a rocky hill, which we know at once to 
be the AcropoHs, as it is strewn with ruins, and crowned 
with the columns of a great temple, which can be no 
other than the Parthenon. 

Turning round the horizon, the view is less attrac- 
tive. The hills are bleak and bare, masses of rock cov- 
ered with a scanty vegetation. This desolate appearance 
is the result of centuries of neglect ; for in ancient times 
the plain of Athens was a paradise of fertility, and where 
not laid out in gardens, was dense with foliage. Stately 
trees stood in many a grove besides that of the Academy, 
while the mountains round " waved like Lebanon." But 
nature seems to have dwindled with man, and centuries 
of misrule, while they have crushed the people, have 
stripped even the mountains of their forests. 

But with all that is so desolate, Athens is to the 
scholar one of the most interesting cities in the world. 



GREECE AND ITS KING. 267 

Its very ruins are eloquent, as we have found in six days 
of riding about, exploring ancient sites and temples, the 
charm and the fascination increasing to the last. 

The Parthenon has disappointed me, not in the beauty 
of its design, which is as nearly perfect as anything ever 
wrought by the hand of man, but in the state of its 
preservation, which is much less complete than that of 
the temples at Psestum. Time and the elements have 
wrought upon its marble front ; but these alone would 
not have made it the ruin that it is, but for the havoc of 
war : for so massive was its structure that it might have 
lasted for ages. Indeed, it was preserved nearly intact 
till about two centuries ago. But the AcropoHs, owing 
to the advantages of its site (a rocky eminence, rising up 
in the midst of the city, like the Castle of Edinburgh), 
had often been turned into a fortress, and sustained 
many sieges. In 1687 it was held by the Turks, and 
the Parthenon was used as a powder magazine, which 
was exploded by a bomb from the Venetian camp on an 
opposite hill, and thus was fatally shattered the great 
edifice that had stood from the age of Pericles. Many 
columns were blown down, making a huge rent on both 
sides. It is sad to see these great blocks of Pentelican 
marble, that had been so perfectly fashioned and chis- 
elled, now strown over the summit of the hiU. 

And then, to complete the destruction, at the begin- 
ning of this century, came a British nobleman, Lord 
Elgin, and having obtained a firman from the Turkish 
Government, proceeded deliberately to put up his scaf- 
folding and take down the friezes of Phidias, and carried 
off a ship-load of them to London, where the Elgin Mar- 
bles now form the chief ornament of the British Museum. 
The English spoilers have indeed allowed some plaster 
casts to be taken, and brought back here — faint remind- 
ers of the glorious originals. "With these and such other 



268 GEEECE AND ITS KING, 

fragments as they have been able to gather, the Greeks 
have formed a small museum of their own on the Acrop- 
olis. In those which have not been too much marred, 
as in the more perfect ones in London, one perceives the 
matchless grace of ancient Greek sculpture. There are 
long processions of soldiers mounted on horses, and 
priests leading their victims to the sacrifice. In these 
every figure is different, yet all are full of majesty and 
grace. What a power even in the horses, as they sweep 
along in the endless procession ; and what a freedom in 
their riders ! The whole seems to march before us. 

But many of the fragments that have been collected 
are so broken that we cannot make anything out of 
them. We know from history that there were on the 
Acropolis five hundred statues (besides those in the 
Parthenon), scattered over the hill. Of these but httle 
remains — here an arm, or a leg, or a headless trunk, 
which would need a genius like that of the ancient 
sculptor himself to restore it to any degree of complete- 
ness. It is said of Cuvier that such was his knowledge 
of comparative anatomy, that from the smallest fragment 
of bone he could reconstruct the frame of a mastodon, 
or of any extinct animal. So perhaps out of these 
remains of ancient art, a Thorwaldsen (who had more 
of the genius of the ancient Greeks than any other mod- 
ern sculptor,) might reconstruct the friezes and sculp- 
tures of the Parthenon. 

But perhaps it is better that they remain as they 
are, fragments of a mighty ruin, suggestions of a beauty 
and grace now lost to the world ; and which no man is 
worthy to restore. 

Even as it stands, shattered and broken, the Parthe- 
non is majestic in its ruins. One must see it to realize 
how much the grandeur of the whole is due to its posi- 
tion. But the old Greeks studied the effect of every- 



GREECE AND ITS KING. 269 

thing, and thus the loftiest of positions was chosen for 
the noblest of temples. As Michael Angelo, in building 
St. Peter's at Rome, said that he " would lift the Pan- 
theon into the air," (erect a structure so vast that its 
very dome should be equal to the ancient temple of the 
gods,) so here the builders of the Parthenon hfted it into 
the clouds. It stands on the very pinnacle of the hill, 
some six hundred feet above the level of the sea, and 
thus is brought into full relief against the sky. On that 
lofty summit it could be seen from the city itself, which 
Kes under the shadow of the Acropolis, as well as from 
the more distant plain. It could be seen also from the 
tops of the mountains, and even far out at sea, as it 
caught and reflected back the rays of the rising or the 
setting sun. Its marble columns, outlined against the 
blue sky of Greece, seemed almost a temple in the clouds. 

This effect of position has been half destroyed, at 
least for those living in Athens, by the barbarous addi- 
tions of later times, by which, in order that the Acropolis 
might be turned into a fortress, the brow of the hiU was 
surmounted with a rude wall, that still encircles it, and 
hides all but the upper part of the Parthenon from view. 
In any proposed " restoration," the first thing should be 
to throw down this ugly wall, so that the great temple 
might be seen to its very base, standing as of old upon 
the naked rocks, with no barrier to hide its majesty, 
from those near at hand as well as those " beholding it 
afar off." 

But, for the present, to see the beauty of the Parthe- 
non, one must go up to the Acropohs, and study it there. 
Chmbing to the summit, we sit down on the steps of the 
Propylsea, or on a broken column, to enjoy the prospect. 
From this point the eye ranges over the plain of Athens, 
bounded on one side by mountains, and on the other by 
the sea. Here are comprised in one view the points of 



270 aEEECE AND ITS KING. 

greatest interest in Athenian history. Yonder is the bay 
of Salamis, where Themistocles defeated the Persians, 
and above it is the hill on which the proud Persian 
monarch Xerxes sat to see the ruin of the Greek ships, 
but from which before the day was ended he fled in dis- 
may. To such spots Demosthenes could point, as he stood 
in the Bema just below us, and thundered to the Athenian 
people to " march against Philip, to conquer or die ! " 
A mile and a half distant, but in full sight, was the grove 
of the Academy, where Plato taught ; and here, under 
the Acropolis, is a small recess hewn in the rock which 
is pointed out as the prison of Socrates, and another 
is called his tomb. This inconstant people, like many 
others, after putting to death the wisest man of his age, 
paid almost divine honors to his memory. 

Like the Coliseum at Rome, the Paiihenon is best seen 
by moonlight, for then the rents ai"e half concealed, and 
as the shadows of the columns that are still standing fall 
across the open area, they seem like the giants of old 
revisiting the place of their gloiy, while the night wind 
sighing among the ruins creeps in our ears like whispers 
of the mighty dead. 

When our American artist, Mr. Church, was here, he 
spent weeks in studying the Parthenon from every point 
and in every light — at sunrise and sunset, and by moon- 
Hght, and even had Bengal lights hung at night to bring 
out new lights and shadows. This latter mode of illu- 
mination was tried on a far grander scale when the 
Prince of Wales was here on his way to India, and the 
effect was indescribably beautiful as those mighty col- 
umns, thus brought into strange relief, stood out against 
the midnight sky. 

But if the Parthenon be only a ruin, the memorial 
of a greatness that exists no more, fit emblem of that 
mythology of which it was the shrine, and of which it is 



GREECE AND ITS KINQ. 271 

now at once the monument and the tomb, there is some- 
thing to be seen from this spot which is not a reminder 
of decay. Beneath the AcropoHs is Mars Hill, where 
Paid stood, in sight of these very temples, and cried, 
" Ye men of Athens, I perceive that in all things ye are 
too superstitious " [very religious] ; " for as I passed by, 
and beheld your devotions, I found an altar with this 
inscription, To the Unknown God. Whom therefore ye 
ignorantly worship, him declare I unto you. God that 
made the world, and all things therein, seeing that he is 
Lord of heaven and earth, dwelleth not in temples made 
with hands " [here he may have pointed up to the Par- 
thenon and other temples which crowned the hill above 
him] ; "neither is worshipped with men's hands, as 
though he needed anything, seeing he giveth to all life, 
and breath, and all things." That voice has died into 
silence, nor doth remain upon the baiTen rock a single 
monument, or token of any kind, to mark where the 
great Apostle stood. But the faith which he preached 
has gone into all the world, and to-day the proudest 
dome that overlooks the greatest capital of the modern 
world, bears the name of St. Paul ; and not only in Lon- 
don, but in hundreds of other cities, in all parts of the 
earth, are temples that tell of the Unknown God whom 
he declared to men, and of a faith and worship that shall 
not pass away. 

It is a long leap in history, from Ancient to Modern 
Greece ; but the intervening period contains so much of 
sadness and of shame, that it is just as well to pass it by. 
"What need to speak of the centuries of degradation in 
which Greece has been trampled on by Roman and Goth 
and Turk, since we may turn to the cheering fact that, 
after this long night of ages, the morning has come, and 
this stricken land revives again ? Greece is at last free 
from her oppressors, and although the smallest of Euro- 



272 GREECE AND ITS KING. 

pean kingdoms, yet slie exists ; she lias a place among 
tlie nations, and the beginning of a new life, the dawn 
of what may prove a long and happy career. 

It is impossible to look on the revival of a nation 
which has had such a history without the deepest intei'- 
est, and I questioned eagerly every one who could tell 
me anything about the conditions and prospects of the 
country. The general report is one of progress — slow 
indeed, but steady. The venerable Dr. BUI, who has 
hved here nearly forty-five j^ears, and is about the oldest 
inhabitant of Athens, tells me that when he cams, there 
was not a single house — he lived at first in an old Venetian 
tower — and to-day Athens is a city of fifty thousand 
inhabitants, with wide and beautiful streets ; with pub- 
He squares and fountains, and many fine residences ; 
with chui'ches and schools, and a flourishing University ; 
with a Palace and a King, a Parliament House and a 
Legislature, and aU the forms of constitutional govern- 
ment. 

The city is very bright and gay. Its climate favors 
life in the open air, and its streets ai'e filled with people, 
whose varied costumes give them a most picturesque 
appearance. The fez is very common, but not a turban 
is to be seen, for there is hardly a Turk in Athens, unless 
it be connected with their embassy. The most striking 
figures in the streets are the Albanians, or SuHotes, 
whose dress is not unlike that of the Highlanders, only 
that the kilt, instead of being of Scotch plaid, is of white 
cotton frilled, with the legs covered with long thick 
stockings, and the costume completed by a '' capote " — 
a cloak as rough as a sheepskin, which is thrown coquet- 
tishly over the shoulders. 

" O who is more brave than a dark Suliote, 
In his snowy camese and his shaggy capote ? '• 



GREECE AND ITS KING. 273 

So (lid Byron draw the picttu'e of those who fought 
bravely in the war of independence. 

The interior of the country is less advanced than the 
capital. The great want is that of internal communica- 
tion. Greece is a country made by nature both for 
commerce and for agriciilture, as it is a peninsula, and 
the long line of coast is indented with bays, while the 
interior is very fertile ; and if a few short roads were 
opened to connect the inland valleys with the sea, so 
that the farmers and peasants could send their produce 
to market, the exports of the country might soon be 
doubled. One trunk road also is needed, about a hun- 
dred miles long, to connect Greece with the European 
system of raUroads. The opening of this single artery 
of trade would give a great impulse to the industry of 
the country ; but as it would have to cross the frontier 
of Turkey, it is necessary to have the consent of the 
Tui'kish Government, and this the Greeks, though they 
have sought it for years, have not been able to obtain. 

But the obstacles to improvement are not all the fault 
of the Turks ; the Greeks are themselves also to blame. 
There is a lack of enterprise and of public spirit. If 
there were more readiness to work together, they could 
do wonders for their country. They need not go to 
England to borrow money to build railroads. There is 
enough in Athens itself, which is the residence of many 
wealthy Greeks. Greece is about as large in territory 
as Massachusetts, and has about the same population. 
If it had the same spiiit of enterprise, it would soon bo 
covered, as Massachusetts is, with a network of railroads, 
and all its valleys would be alive with the hum of industry. 

This lack of enterprise and want of combination for 
public ends, are due to inherent defects of national char- 
acter. The modern Greeks have many of the traits of 
their illustrious ancestors, in which there is a strange 



274 GREECE AND ITS KING. 

compound of strength and weakness. They are a mer- 
curial and excitable race, very much like the French, 
effervescing like champagne, bubbhng up and boiling 
over; fond of talk, and often spending in words the 
energy that were better reserved for deeds. Their 
readiness to get excited about Kttle matters is weU 
expressed in a proverb of their own : " They drown 
themselves in a tumbler of water ! " 

A still more serious defect than this lightness of man- 
ner, is the want of a high patriotic devotion which shall 
over-ride selfish considerations. There is too much of 
party spirit, and of personal ambition. Everybody wants 
to be in office, to obtain control of the Government, 
and selfish interests take precedence of the public 
good ; men are more eager to get into power by any 
means, than to seek the welfare of their country. This 
party spirit makes more difficult the task of government. 
But after all these are things which exist more or less in 
aU countries, and especially under all free governments, 
and which the most skilled statesmen have to use aU 
their tact and skill to restrain within due bounds. 

But while these are obvious defects of the national 
character, no one can fail to see the fine qualities of the 
Greeks, and the great things of which they are capable. 
They are full of talent, in which they show their ances- 
tral blood, and if sometimes a little restless and unman- 
ageable, they are but like spirited horses, that need only 
to be "reined in" and guided aright, to run a long and 
glorious race. 

I have good hope of the country also, from the char- 
acter oi the young King, whom I had an opportunity of 
seeing. This was an unexpected pleasure, for which I 
was indebted to the courtesy of our accomplished 
Minister, Gen. J. Meredith Reed, who suggested and 
arranged it ; and it proved not a dry formality, but a 



&BEECE ANE ITS KINa. 275 

real gratification. I had supposed it would be a mere 
ceremony, but it was, on tlie contrary, so free from aU 
etif&iess — our reception was so unaffected and so cordial 
— that I should like to impart a little of the pleasure of 
it to others. I wish I could convey the impression of 
that young ruler exactly as he appeared in our interview : 
for this is a case in which the simplest and most Hteral 
description would be the most favorable. Public opin- 
ion abroad hardly does him justice ; for the mere fact of 
his youth (he is not yet quite thirty years old) may lead 
those who know nothing of him personally, to suppose 
that he is a mere figiire-head of the State, a graceful 
ornament indeed, but not capable of adding much to 
the political wisdom by which it is to be guided. The 
fact too of his royal connections (for he is the son of the 
King of Denmark, and brother-in-law both of the Prince 
of Wales and of the eldest son of the Czar), naturally 
leads one to suppose that he was chosen King by the 
Greeks chiefly to insure the alliance of England and 
Russia. No doubt these considerations did influence, 
as they very properly might, his election to the throne. 
But the people were most happy in their choice, in that 
they obtained not merely a foreign prince to mle over 
them, but one of such personal quahties as to win their 
love and command their respect. Those who come in 
contact with him soon discover that he is not only a 
man of education, but of practical knowledge of affairs ; 
that he " carries an old head on young shoulders," and 
has Httle of youth about him except its modesty, but 
this he has in a marked degree, and it gives a great 
charm to his manners. I was struck with it as soon 
as we entered the room — an air so modest, and yet so 
frank and open, that it at once puts a stranger at his 
ease. There is something very engaging in his manner, 
which commands your confidence by the freedom with 



276 GREECE AND ITS EDTG. 

wliich he gives his own. He welcomed us most cor- 
dially, shaking us warmly by the hand, and com- 
menced the conversation in excellent English, talking 
with as much apparent freedom as if he were with old 
fi'iends. We were quite alone with him, and had him 
all to ourselves. There was nothing of the manner of 
one who feels that his dignity consists in maintaining 
a stiff and rigid attitude. On the contrary, his spirits 
seemed to run over, and he conversed not only with the 
freedom, but the joyousness, of a boy. He amused us 
very much by describing a scene which some traveller 
professed to have witnessed in the Greek Legislature, 
when the speakers became so excited that they passed 
from words to blows, and the Assembly broke up in a 
general melee ! Of course no such scene ever occuiTed, 
but it suited the purpose of some reporter, who must 
concoct a sensation for his journal. I had been present 
at a meeting of the Greek Parliament a day or two 
previous, and found it far more quiet and decorous than 
the meeting of the National Assembly at Versailles, 
which I had witnessed several months before. Indeed 
no legislative body could be more orderly in its delib- 
erations. 

Then the King talked of a great variety of subjects — 
of Greece and of America, of art and of politics, of the 
Parthenon and of plum-puddings.* Gen. Reed was very 
anxious that Greece should be represented at the Cen- 
tennial Exhibition at Philadelphia. The King asked 
what they should send ? I modestly suggested the 



* This is not a jest. The King said with perfect truth that the chief 
revenue of Greece was derived from the plum-puddings of England 
and America, the fact being that the currants of Corinth (which 
indeed gives the name to that delicious fruit) form the chief article 
of export from the Kingdom of Greece— the amount in one year 
exported to England alone being of the value of £1,200,000. The next 
article of export is olive oil. 



GEEECE AND ITS KING. 277 

Parthenon ( ! ) with which Greece woiald eclipse all the 
world, unless Egypt should send the Pyramids! Of 
course, it would be a profanation to touch a stone of 
that mighty temple, though it would not be half as 
bad to carry off a few " specimen bricks " as it was for 
Lord Elgin to carry off the friezes of Phidias. But Gen. 
Eeed suggested, what would be quite practicable, that 
they should send plaster casts of some of their greatest 
statues, which would be no robbery, but a worthy memo- 
rial of the glories of Ancient Greece. 

The King spoke very warmly of America. The rela- 
tions of the two countries have always been most cor- 
dial. "When Greece was struggling single-handed to 
gain her independence, and Exiropean powers stood 
aloof, America was the fii'st to extend her sympathy and 
aid. This early friendship has not been forgotten, and it 
is to be hoped that it will be kept through all future years. 

Such is the man who is now the King of Greece. He 
has a great task before him, to restore a country so long 
depressed. He appreciates fully its difficulties. No man 
understands better the character of the Greeks, nor the 
real wants of the country. He may sometimes be tried 
by things in his way. Yet he applies himself to them 
with inexhaustible patience. The greater the difficulty, 
the greater the glory of success. K he should sometimes 
feel a little discouraged, there is much also to cheer and 
animate him. If things move slowly, it is a good omen 
that they move at all ; and looking back over a series of 
years, one may see that there has been a great advance. 
It is not yet half a century since the country gained its 
independence. Fifty years ago Turkish pachas were the 
masters, and grinding the Christian population into the 
dust. Now the Turks are gone. The people are free, 
and carry themselves with a manly bearing which shows 
that they breathe the air of liberty. 



278 GBEECE AND ITS KTKG. 

With such a country and such a people, this young 
King has before him the most beautiful part which is 
given to any European sovereign — to restore this ancient 
State ; to reconstruct, not the Parthenon, but the King- 
dom ; to open new channels of industry and wealth, and 
to lead the people in all the ways of progress and of 
peace. 

It will not be intruding into any privacy, if I speak 
of the King in his domestic relations. It is not always 
that kings and queens present the most worthy examples 
to their people ; but here every one spoke of this royal 
family as a model. The Queen, a daughter of the Grand 
Duke Constantine of Russia, is equally famed for her 
beauty and for the gentle manners that are the truest 
sign of one who is high-born and high-bred. She has 
won the love of the whole nation. Their four children 
are ruddy-cheeked little creatures, whom we saw riding 
about every day, so blooming and rosy that the carriage 
looked like a basket of flowers. They were always jump- 
ing about like squirrels, so that the King told us he had 
to have them fastened in with leather straps, lest in their 
childish glee they should throw themselves overboard ! 
It was a sight to warm the heart of the most cold- 
blooded old bachelor that ever lived, and make him bless 
that beautiful young mother and her happy children. 

That such a young king and queen should be at the 
head of a kingdom which is itseK young, is an ideal 
adaptation to the exalted place that they fill. May 
they hve to see restored somewhat of the ancient glory 
of their country, when Greece shall be once more the 
home of a brave, free, enlightened and happy people ! 



CHAPTEK XXVn. 

CONSTANTINOPLE. 

From my childhood no city has taken such hold of 
my imagination as Constantinople. For weeks we have 
been looking forward to our visit here ; and when at 
last we entered the Dardanelles (passing the site of 
ancient Troy), and crossed the Sea of Marmora, and 
caught the first gleam of the city in the distance, we 
were realizing a long-cherished dream. Venice rising 
from the sea is not more beautiful than Constantinople, 
when the morning sun strikes on its domes and mina- 
rets, rising out of the groves of dark green cypresses, 
which mark the places where the Turks bury their dead. 
And when we rounded Seraglio Point and anchored at 
the mouth of the Golden Horn, we seemed to be indeed 
in the heart of the Orient, where the gorgeous East 
dazzles the traveller from the West with its glittering 
splendors. 

But closer contact sometimes turns poetry to prose, 
and the impression of Oriental magnificence is rudely 
disturbed when one goes on shore. Indeed, if a travel- 
ler cares more for pleasant impressions than for dis- 
agreeable realities, he wotdd do better not to land at all, 
but to stand afar off, moving slowly up and down the 
Bosphorus, beholding and admiring, and then sail away 
just at sunset, as the last light of day gilds the domes and 
minarets with a parting glory. He will then retain 
his first impressions undisturbed, and Constantinople 
wiU remain in his memory a beautiful dream. But as 
we are prepared for every variety of experience, and 
enjoy sudden contrasts, we are rather pleased than other- 
wise at the noise and confusion which greet the arrival 



280 CONSTANTINOPLE. 

of our steamer in these waters ; and tlie crowd of boats 
whicli surround the ship, and the yells of the boatmen, 
though they are not the voices of paradise, greatly amuse 
us. Happily a dragoman sent from the Hotel d'Angle- 
terre, where we had engaged rooms, hails us from a 
boat, and, coming on board, takes us in charge, and res- 
cues us from the mob, and soon lands us on the quay, 
where, after passing smoothly through the Custom House, 
we see our numerous trunks piled on the backs of half 
a dozen porters, or hamals, and our guide leads the way 
up the hill of Pera. 

As soon as we get an interior view of Constantinople, 
we find it quite different from the glittering exterior, as 
se^n from a distance. We are plunged into a labyrinth 
of dark and narrow and dirty streets, which are over- 
hung with miserable houses, where from little shops 
turbaned figures peer out upon us, and women, closely 
veiled, glide swiftly by. Such streets we never saw in 
any city that pretended to civilization. There is hardly 
a street that is decently paved in all Constantinople. 
The pavement is of rough, sharp stones, between which 
one sinks in miid. Even the Grand Street of Pera, on 
which are aU the foreign embassies, is very mean in 
appearance. The embassies themselves are fine, as they 
are set far back from the street, surrounded with ample 
grounds, and in the rear overlook the Bosphorus, but 
the street itself is dingy enough. To our surprise we 
find that Constantinople has no architectural magnifi- 
cence to boast of. Except the Mosques, and the Pal- 
aces of the Sultan, which are on an imperial scale, there 
are no buildings which one would go far to see in Lon- 
don or Paris or Kome. The city has been again and 
again swept by fires, so that many parts are of modern 
construction, while the old parts which have escaped the 
flames, are miserable beyond description. It is through 



CONSTANTINOPLE. 281 

such a part that we have to pick our way, steering 
through narrow passages, full of dogs and asses and 
wretched-looking people. This is our entrance into 
Constantinople, which dampens one's enthusiasm, so 
that he would be quite willing to exchange somewhat 
of Oriental picturesqueness for Western cleanliness and 
comfort. 

But the charm is not all gone, nor has it disappeared 
after twelve days of close familiarity. Only the picture 
takes a more defined shape, and we are able to distin- 
guish the lights from the shadows. Constantinople is 
full of sharp contrasts, in which one extreme sets the 
other in a stronger light, as Oriental luxury looks down 
on Oriental dirt and beggary, and squalid poverty 
crouches under the walls of splendid palaces. Thus 
the city may be described as mean or as magnificent, 
and either description be true, as we contemplate one 
extreme or the other. 

As to its beauty of situation, no language can surpass 
the reality. It stands at the meeting of two seas and two 
continents, where Europe looks across the Bosphorus to 
Asia, as New York looks across the East River to Brook- 
lyn. The narrow strait which divides the land unites 
the waters, the Black Sea with the Mediterranean. 
From the top of the Seraskier tower one looks down 
on such a panorama as is not elsewhere on the face of 
the earth. Far away stretches the beautiful Sea of Mar- 
mora, which comes up to the very walls of the city, and 
seems to kiss its feet. On the other side of Stamboul, 
dividing it from Pera, is the Golden Horn, crowded with 
ships ; and in front is the Bosphorus, where the whole 
Turkish navy rides at anchor, and a fleet of steamers and 
ships is passing, bearing the grain of the Black Sea to 
the nations of Western Europe. Islanded amid all these 
waters are the different parts of one gi'eat capital — a vast 



282 CONSTANTINOPLE. 

stretch of houses, out of whicli rise a hundred domes 
and minarets. As one takes in all the features of this 
marvellous whole, he can but exclaim, "Beautiful for sit- 
uation, the joy of the whole earth, is " — Constantinople 1 

Nor are its environs less attractive than the position 
of the city itself. Whichever way you turn, sailing over 
these waters and along these shores, or riding outside 
of the ancient wall, from the Golden Horn over the hOls 
to the Sea of Marmora, with its beautiful islands, there 
is something to enchant the eye and to excite the imag- 
ination. A sail up the Bosphorus is one of the most 
interesting in the world. We have taken it twice. The 
morning after our arrival, our friend Dr. George W. 
Wood gave up the day to accompany us. For mUes the 
shores on either side are dotted with palaces of the 
Sultan, or of the Viceroy of Egypt, or of this or that 
Grand Vizier, or of some Pasha who has despoiled prov- 
inces to enrich himself, or with the summer residences 
of the Foreign Ministers, or of wealthy merchants of 
Constantinople. 

The Bosphorus constantly reminded me of the Hud- 
son : with its broad stream indented with bays ; and the 
same steep hills rising from the water's edge, and wooded 
to the top ; now swelling out like our own noble river 
at the Tappan Zee, and then narrowing again like the 
Hudson at West Point. So deUghted were we with the 
excursion, that we made it a second time, accompanied 
by Rev. A. V. MiUingen, the excellent pastor of the 
Union Church of Pera, and found the impression of 
beauty increased. Landing on the eastern side, near 
where the Sweet Waters of Asia come down to mingle 
with the sea, we walked up a valley which led among 
the hills, and climbed the Giants' Mountain, on which 
Moslem chronicles fix the place of the tomb of Joshua, 
the great Hebrew leader, while tradition declares it to 



CONSTAJSTTINOPLE. 283 

be the tomb of Hercules ! No doubt one was buried 
here as truly as the other ; authorities differ on the sub- 
ject, and you take your choice. But what none can dis- 
pute is the magnificent site, worthy to have been the 
place of burial of any hero or demi-god. The view 
extends up and down the Bosphorus for miles. Never 
could it have been more beautiful than that day, which 
was like one of the golden days of our Indian summer, 
a soft and balmy air resting on aU the valleys and the 
hills. The landscape had not, indeed, the freshness of 
spring, but the leaves still clung to the trees, which wore 
the tints of autumn, and thus resembled, though they 
did not equal, those of our American forests; and as we 
wandered on amid these wild and wooded scenes, we 
could well imagine that we were rambhng among the 
hills along the Hudson. 

But in one point the resemblance ceases. There is 
a difference that makes all the difference in the world : 
the Hudson presents us only the beauty of nature, while 
the Bosphorus has the added charm of history ! This 
dividing line between Europe and Asia has divided the 
world for thousands of years. Here we come back to 
the very beginnings of history, or before aU history, into 
the dim twilight of fable and tradition ; for through 
these straits, according to the ancient story, sailed Jason 
with his Argonauts in search of the Golden Fleece, and 
yonder are the Symplegades, the rocks which were the 
terror of navigators even in the time of Jason, if such a 
man ever lived, and round which the sea stiU roars as it 
roared thousands of years ago. On a hill-top stood a 
temple to Jupiter Urius, to which mariners entering the 
stormy Eusine came to offer their vows, and to pray for 
favorable winds ; and here stiU lives an old, long-haired 
Dervish, to whom the Turkish sailors apply for the ben- 
efit of his prayers. A trifling gratuity insured us what- 



284 CONSTANnNOPLE. 

ever protection he could give. Thus we strolled along 
over the hiUs to the Genoese Castle, a great round tower, 
built hundreds of years ago to guard the entrance to the 
Black Sea, and in a gTove of oaks stretched ourselves 
upon the grass, and took our luncheon in full view of 
two continents, both washed by one great and wide sea. 
To this very height came Darius the Great, to get the same 
view on which we are looking now ; and a few miles 
below, opposite the American College at Bebek, he built 
his bridge of boats across the Bosphorus, over which he 
passed his army of seven hundred thousand men. To 
this place of passage Xenophon led his famous Retreat 
of the Ten Thousand. 

Coming down to later times, we are sitting among 
the graves of Arabs who fought and fell in the time of 
Haroun al Raschid, the magnificent Caliph of Bagdad, 
in whose reign occurred the marvellous adventures 
related in the Tales of the Arabian Nights. These 
were Moslem heroes, and their graves are still called 
" the tombs of the martyrs." But hither came other 
warriors ; for in yonder valley across the water encamped 
Godfrey of Bouillon, with his Crusaders, who had trav- 
ersed Etu'ope, and were now about to cross into Asia, to 
march thi-ough Asia Minor, and descend into Syria, to 
fight for the Holy Sepulchre. 

Recalling such historic memories, and enjoying to the 
full the beauty of the day, we came down from the hills 
to the waters, and crossing in a caique to the other side 
of the Bosphorus, took the steamer back to the city. 

While such are the surroundings of Constantinople, in 
its interior it is the most picturesque city we have seen. 
On the borders of Europe and Asia, it derives its char- 
acter, as weU as its mixed population, from both. It is 
a singular compound of nations. There is not a spot in 
the world where a greater variety of races meet than on 



CONSTANTINOPLE. 285 

the long bridge across the Golden Horn, between Pera 
and Stamboul. Here are the, representatives of all the 
types of mankind that came out of the Ark, the descend- 
ants of Shem, Ham, and Japheth — Jews and Gentiles, 
Turks and Greeks and Armenians; "Parthians and 
Medes and Elamites, and dwellers in Mesopotamia"; 
Persians and Parsees, and Arabs from Egypt and Arabia ; 
Moors from the Barbary Coast ; Nubians and Abyssin- 
ians from the upper Nile, and Ethiopians from the far 
interior of Africa. I am surprised to see so many blacks 
wearing the txirban. But here they are in great num- 
ber, the recognized equals of their white co-reHgionists. 
I have at last found one country in the world in which 
the distinction between black and white makes abso- 
lutely no difference in rank or position. And this, 
strange to say, is a country where slavery long existed, 
and where, though suppressed by law, it still exists, 
though less openly. We visited the old slave market, 
and though evidently business was dull, yet a dozen 
men were sitting round, who, we were told, were slave 
merchants, and some black women were there to be 
sold. But slavery in Turkey is of a mild form, and as it 
affects both races (fair Circassian women being sold as 
well as the blackest Ethiopian), the fact of servitude 
works no such degradation as attaints the race. Whites 
and blacks walk about arm in arm, and sit at the same 
table, without the slightest consciousness of superiority 
on one side, or of inferiority on the other. No doubt 
this equality is partly due to the influence of Moham- 
medanism, which is very democratic, recognizing no dis- 
tinction of race, before which all men are equal as before 
their Creator ! I am glad to be able to state one fact so 
much to its honor. 

But these turbaned Asiatics are not the only ones 
that throng this bridge. Here are Franks in gi'eat num- 



286 CONSTANTINOPLE. 

bers, speaking all the languages of the West, French and 
Italian, German and English. One may distinguish them 
affar off by the stove-pipe hat, that beautiful cylinder 
whose perpendicular outline is the emblem of upright- 
ness, and which we wish might always be a sign and 
pledge that the man whose face appears under it would 
illustrate in his own person the unbending integrity of 
Western civilization. And so the stream of life rolls on 
over that bridge, as over the Bridge of Mirza, never 
ceasing any more than the waters of the Grolden Horn 
which, roll beneath it. 

And not only all races, but all conditions are repre- 
sented here — beggars and princes ; men on horseback 
forcing their way through the crowd on foot ; carriages 
roUing and rumbling on, but never stopping the tramp, 
tramp, of the thousands that keep up their endless march. 
The Sultan dashes by in a carriage, with mounted offi- 
cers attending his sacred person ; while along his path 
crouch all the forms of wretched humanity — men with 
loathsome diseases ; men without arms or legs, holding 
up their withered stumps ; or with eyes put out, roUing 
their sightless eyeballs, to excite the pity of passers by — 
all joining in one wail of misery, and begging for chaiity. 

In the mongrel population of Constantinople one 
must not forget the dogs, which constitute a large part 
of the inhabitants. A traveller, who has illustrated his 
sketches with the pen by sketches with the pencU, has 
given, as a faithful picture of this capital of the East, 
simply a pack of dogs snarling in the foreground as its 
most conspicuous feature, while a mosque and a minaret 
may be faintly seen in the distance ! If this is a cari- 
catxu'e, it only exaggerates the reality, for certainly the 
dogs have taken full possession of the city. They can- 
not be " Christian dogs," but Moslem dogs, since they 
are tolerated, and even protected, by the Tru'ks. It is a 



CONSTANTINOPLE. 287 

peculiar breed — all yeUow, mth long, sharp noses and 
sharp ears — resembling in fact more the fox or the wolf 
than the ordinary house-dog. A shaggy Newfoimdlander 
is never seen. As they are restrained by no Malthusian 
ideas of population, they multiply exceedingly. They 
belong to no man, but are their own masters, and roam 
about as freely as any of the followers of the prophet. 
They are only kept in bounds by a police of their own. 
It is said that they are divided into communities, which 
have their separate districts, and that if by chance a 
stray dog gets out of his beat, the others set upon him, 
and pimish him so crueUy that he flies yelping to his 
own crowd for protection. They live in the streets, and 
there may be sesn asleep in the day-time. You cannot 
look anywhere but you see a dog curled up like a rug 
that has been thrown in a corner. You stumble over 
them on the sidewalk. They keep pretty quiet during 
the day, but at night they let themselves loose, and come 
upon you in fuU cry. They bark and yelp, but their 
favorite note is a hideous howl, which they keep up 
under your window by the hour together (at least it 
seems an hour when you are trying to sleep), or until 
they are exhausted, when the cry is immediately taken 
up by a fresh pack round the corner. 

The purely Oriental character of Constantinople is 
seen in a visit to the bazaars — a feature peculiar to East- 
em cities. It was perhaps to avoid the necessity of 
locomotion, always painful to a Turk, that business has 
been concentrated within a defined space. Imagine an 
area of many acres, or of many city squares, all enclosed 
and covered in, and cut up into a great number of little 
streets or passages, on either side of which are ranged 
innumerable petty shops. Such are the bazaars ! In 
front of each a venerable Turk sits squatting on his legs, 
smoking his pipe, and ready to receive customers. You 



288 CONSTANTINOPLE. 

wonder where he can keep his goods, for his shop is like 
a baby house, a space of but a few feet square. But he 
receives you with Oriental courtesy, making a respectful 
salaam, perhaps offering you coffee or a pipe to soothe 
your nerves, and render your mind calm and placid for 
the contemplation of the treasures he is to set before 
you. And then he proceeds to take down from his 
shelves, or from some inner recess, what does indeed 
stir your enthusiasm, much as you may try to repress 
it, silks from Broussa, carpets from Persia, blades from 
Damascus, and antique curiosities in bronze and ivory, 
all of which excite the eager desire of lovers of things 
that are rare and beautiful. I shotild not like to say, 
lest I should betray secrets, how many hours some of 
our party spent in these places, or what follies and 
extravagances they committed. Certainly as an exhibi- 
tion of one phase of Oriental life, it was a scene not to 
be forgotten. 

To turn from business to rehgion, as it is now per- 
haps midday or sunset, we hear from the minaret of 
a neighboring mosque the muezzin calling the hour of 
prayer; and putting off our shoes, with sandaled or 
slippered feet, we enter the holy place. At the vesti- 
bule are fountains, at which the Moslems wash their 
hands and feet before they go in to pray. Lifting the 
heavy curtain which covers the door, we enter. One 
glance shows that we are not in a Christian chui'ch, 
CathoHc or Protestant. There is no cross and no altar ; 
no Lord's Prayer, no Creed, and no Ten Commandments. 
The walls are naked and bare, with no sculptured form 
of prophet or apostle, and no painting of Christ or the 
Virgin. The Mohammedans are the most terrible of 
iconoclasts, and tolerate no images of any kind, which 
they regard as a form of idolatry. But though the 
building looks empty and cold, there is a great appear- 



CONSTANTINOPLE. 289 

ance of devotion. All the worshippers stand with their 
faces turned towards Mecca, as the ulema in a low, 
wailing tone reads, or chants, passages from the Koran. 
There is no music of any kind, except this dreary mono- 
tone. But all seem moved by some common feeling. 
They kneel, they bow themselves to the earth, they kiss 
the floor again and again, in sign of their deep abase- 
ment before God and His prophet. "We looked on in 
silence, respecting the proprieties of the place. But the 
scene gave me some unpleasant reflections, not only at 
the blind superstition of the worshippers, but at the 
changes which had come to pass in this city of Constan- 
tine, the first of Christian emperors, and in a place which 
was long devoted to the worship of Christ. The Mosque 
of St. Sophia, which, in its vastness and severe and sim- 
ple majesty, is one of the grandest temples of the world, 
was erected as a Christian church, and so remained for 
nearly a thousand years. In it, or in its predecessor 
standing on the same spot, preached the golden-mouthed 
Chrysostom. It is but four hundred and twenty years 
since the Turks captured Constantinople, and the terri- 
ble Mohammed II., mounted on horseback, and sword 
in hand, rode through yonder high door, and gave orders 
to slay the thousands who had taken refuge within these 
sacred walls ! Then Christian blood ovei-flowed the 
pavement like a sea, as men and women and helpless 
children were trampled down beneath the heels of the 
cruel invaders. And so the abomination of desolation 
came into the holy place, and St. Sophia was given up 
to the spoiler. His first act was to destroy every trace 
of its Christian ase ; to take away the vessels of the 
sanctuary, as of old they were taken from the temple at 
Jerusalem ; to cover up the beautiful mosaics in the 
ceiling and on the walls, that for so many centuries had 
looked down on Christian worshippers ; and to cut out 



290 CONSTANTINOPLE. 

every sign of tlie cross ! In going round tlie spacious 
galleries, I observed that wherever it had been carved in 
the ancient marble, it had been chiselled away ! Thus 
the usurping Moslems had striven to obliterate every 
trace of Christian worship. This desecration stirs the 
blood of every Christian believer, who mutters a threat 
or offers a prayer that this sign may be restored, and 
the Cross again fly above the Crescent, not only over the 
great temple of St. Sophia, but over all the domes and 
minarets of Constantinople ! 

For the relief of contrast, we turn to one bright 
spot, one hopeful sign, that is like a bit of green grass 
springing up amid the moss-covered ruins of a decaying 
empire. It is like coming out from under the gloomy 
arches of St. Sophia into the warm sunshine, to turn 
from a creed of Fatalism, which speaks only of decay 
and death, to that better faith which has in it the new 
life of the world. The Christian religion was born in 
the East, and carried by early apostolic missionaries to 
"Western Europe, where it laid the foundation of great 
nations and empires ; and in after centuries was borne 
across the seas ; and now, in these later ages, it is 
brought back to the East by men from the West. In 
this work of restoring Christianity to its ancient seats, 
the East is indebted, not only to Christian England, but 
to Christian America, where from the very beginning 
Constantinople was fixed upon as a centre of opera- 
tions, and the American Board sent some of its picked 
men to the Turkish capital. Here came at an early day 
Dwight and Goodell, Schauffler and Eiggs, the vener- 
able translator of the Bible, who was the last survivor. 
These noble men have been succeeded by others who 
are worthy to follow in their footsteps, whose efficiency 
has been greatly increased by having a local centre to 
raUy about. In the heart of old Stamboul stands the 



CONSTANTINOPLE. 291 

Bible House, a large and handsome building, whicli is 
a rallying point for the missionaries in and around 
Constantinople. Here are Bibles in all the languages of 
the East, and offices for different departments of work. 
From this point the Treasurer, who has charge of pay- 
ing the missionaries, distributes every year about one- 
third of all the expenditures of the American Board. 
Here, too, is done the editing and printing of three or 
four papers in different languages. Of course the cir- 
culation of any one of these is not large, as we reckon in 
America ; but all combined, it is large, and such issues 
going forth every week scatter the seeds of truth over 
the Turkish Empire. 

Another institution founded by the liberality of Amer- 
ican Christians is a Seminary for the education of girls, 
which was begun some years since, and been so success- 
ful that a new bmlding has been erected, the money for 
which — fifty thousand dollars — was given whoUy by the 
women of America. It is a beautiful structure, standing 
on a hill at Scutari which commands a view of all Con- 
stantinople, and of the adjacent waters, far out into the 
Sea of Marmora. Around this "Home" are settled a 
number of missionary families, who, with the ladies 
engaged in teaching, form as delightful a circle as one 
can meet in any part of the missionary world. 

The day that we made our visit, we went to witness 
the performance of the Howling Dervishes, who have a 
weekly howl at Scutari, and in witnessing the jumpings 
and contortions of these men, who seemed more like 
wild beasts than rational beings, I could but contrast 
the disgusting spectacle with the scene that I had wit- 
nessed that morning — a scene of order, of quiet, and 
of peace — as the young girls recited with so much 
intelligence, and sang their beautiful hymns. That 
is the difference between Mohammedanism and that 



292 CONSTANTINOPLE. 

purer religion wliicli our missionaries are seeking to 
introduce. 

Last, but not least, of the monuments of American 
liberality in and around Constantinople, is the College 
at Bebek, which owes its existence to that far-sighted 
missionary, Dr. Cyrus Hamlin, and to which ]Mr. Chris- 
topher R. Robert of New York gave two hundred thou- 
sand doUars, in recognition of which it bears his hon- 
ored name. It stands on a high hill overlooking the 
Bosphorus, from which one may see for miles along the 
shores of Europe and Asia. 

The college is soUdly built, of gray stone. It is a 
quadrangle with a court in the centre, round which are 
the lecture rooms, the library, apparatus-room, etc. In 
the basement is the large dining-room, while in the 
upper story are the dormitories. It is very efficiently 
organized, with Dr. Washburn, who was a missionary 
in Constantinoj)le, as President, and Profs. Long and 
Grosvenor, and others. There are nearly two hun- 
dred students from all parts of Turkey, the largest 
number from any one province being from Bulgaria. 
The course of study is much the same as in our Amer- 
ican Colleges. HaK a dozen different languages are 
spoken by the students, but in the impossibility of 
adopting any one of them as the medium of instruc- 
tion, the teaching is in English, which has the double 
advantage of being more convenient for the instructors, 
and of educating the students in a knowledge of the 
English tongue. An American may be pardoned if he 
feels a pride in the fact that in all the Turkish Empire 
the only institution in which a young man can get a 
thorough education is the American College at Bebek, 
except one other College — also founded by American 
missionaries — that at Beirut 1 

Grouped around Robert College is another mis- 



CONSTANTINOPLE. 293 

sionary circle, like the one at Scutari. Besides the 
families of the President and Professors, a number of 
English families live here, as a convenient point near 
Constantinople, making altogether quite a large Prot- 
estant community, for whom there is an English church, 
in which there is a service every Sabbath. 

Observers of passing events, to whom nothing is 
important except pubhc affairs, may think this notice 
of missionary operations quite unworthy to be spoken 
of along with the political changes and the proposed 
military campaigns which attract the eye of the world 
to Turkey. But movements which make the most noise 
are not always the most potent as causes, or the most 
enduring in their effects. When Paul was brought to 
Bome and thrown into the Mamertine prison, Nero in 
his Golden House cared nothing for the despised Jew, 
if he even laiew of his existence. But three centuries 
passed, and the faith which Paul introduced into Rome 
ascended the throne of the Csesars. So our missionaries 
in the East are sowing the seed of future harvests. 
Many years ago I heard Mr. George P. Marsh, the 
United States Minister at Constantinople, say that the 
American missionaries in the Turkish Empire were 
doing a work the full influence of which could not be 
seen in this generation. Thus do our countrymen pay 
the debt of former ages, in giving back to the Old World 
what it has given to us ; and paying it with interest, 
since along with the religion that was born in Bethlehem 
of Judea, do they bring to these shores, not only the 
gospel of good-will among men, but all the progress in 
government and in civilization which has been made in 
eiffhteen centuries. 



CHAPTEE XXVm 

THE SULTAN ABDUL A2XZ. 

Whoever comes to Constantinople must behold the 
face of the Sultan, if he would see the height of all 
human glory. Other European sovereigns are but men ; 
but he is the incarnation of a spiritual as well as a tem- 
poral power. He is not only the ruler of a State, but 
the head of a Eeligion. "What the Pope is to the 
Roman Catholic Church, the Sultan is to Islam. He is 
the Caliph to whom all the followers of the Prophet in 
Asia and Africa look up with reverence as their heaven- 
appointed leader. But though so great a being, he does 
not keep himself invisible, Hke the Brother of the Sun 
and Moon in China. Once a week he makes a public 
appearance. Every Friday, which is the Mohammedan 
Sabbath, he goes in great state to the mosque, and who- 
soever will may draw near and gaze on the brightness of 
his face. This is the spectacle of Constantinople for all 
who would see an exhibition of Oriental pomp and mag- 
nificence. Sometimes the Sultan goes to mosque by 
water, in a. splendid barge covered with gold, when, as 
soon as he takes his seat under a canopy, all the ships 
of war lying in the Bosphorus fire salutes, making the 
shores ring with their repeated thunders. At other 
times, as when we saw him, he goes on horseback, 
attended by a large cavalcade. 

It was a little before noon that, with our dragoman 
as guide, we drove to the neighborhood of the palace, 
where we found a crowd already assembled in front of 
the gates, and a brilliant staff of officers in waiting. 
Troops were drawn up on both sides of the street by 
which the Sultan was to pass. Laborers were busy 



THE SULTAN ABDUL AZIZ. 295 

covering it with sand, that even his horse's feet might 
not touch the common earth. While awaiting his 
appearance we drove up and down to observe the 
crowd. Carriages filled with the beauties of the harems 
of different pashas were moving slowly along, that they 
might enjoy the sight, for their secluded life does not 
extinguish their feminine curiosity. Very pale and lan- 
guid beauties they were, as one might see through their 
thin gauze veils, their paUid expressionless faces not 
relieved by their duU dark eyes. Adjoining the palace 
of the Sultan is that of his harem, where we observed 
a great number of eunuchs standing in front, tall, 
strapping fellows, black as night, (they were Nubian 
slaves brought from the upper Nile,) but very weU 
dressed in European costume, with faultless frock coats, 
who evidently felt a pride in their position as attendants 
of the Imperial household. 

While observing these strange figures, the sound of 
a trumpet and the hurrying of soldiers to their ranks, 
told that the Sultan was about to move. "Far off his 
coming shone." Looking back, we saw a great stir 
about the palace gates, out of which issued a large reti- 
nue, making a dazzhng array, as the sun was reflected 
from their trappings of gold. And now a ringing cheer 
from the troops told that their sovereign had appeared, 
and we drew up by the side of the street " to see great 
Csesar pass." First came a number of high officers of 
State in brilliant dress, their horses mounted with rich 
trappings. These passed, and there was an open space, 
as if no other presence were worthy to precede near at 
hand the august majesty that was to follow ; and on a 
magnificent white charger appeared the Sultan ! The 
drums beat, the bands played, the troops presented arms, 
and cheers ran along the line. But I hardly noticed 
this, for my eyes were fixed on the central figure, which 



296 THE SULTAN ABDUL AZIZ. 

I confess answered very well to my idea of an Oriental 
sovereign. It is said that tlie Sultan never looks so well 
as on horseback, when his rather heavy person appears 
to the best advantage. He wore no insignia of his rank, 
not even a military cap or a waving plume, but the uni- 
versal fez, with only a star glittering with diamonds on 
his breast. Slowly he passed, his horse never moving 
out of a walk, but stepping proudly as if conscious of 
the dignity of his rider, who held himself erect, as if dis- 
daining the earth on which he rode ; not bowing to the 
right or left, recognizing no one, and betraying no emo- 
tion at the sight of the crowd, or the cheers of his sol- 
diers, or the music of the band, but silent, grave and 
stern, as one who allowed no familiarity, but was accus- 
tomed to speak only to be obeyed. 

He passed, and dismounting on the marble steps of 
the mosque, which had been spread with a carpet, 
ascended by stairs to a private gallery, which was 
screened from the rest of the building, Uke a box in a 
theatre, where he bowed himself and repeated, " God is 
God, and Mohammed is His prophet," and whatever 
other form of prayer is provided for royal sinners. 

But his devotions were not very long or painful. In 
half an hour he had confessed his sins, or paid his ado- 
ration, and stepped into a carriage drawn by four horses 
to return. As he drove by he turned towards us, his 
attention perhaps being attracted by a carriage filled 
with foreigners, and we had a full view of his face. He 
looked older than I expected to see him. Though not 
yet fifty, his beard, which was clipped short, was quite 
gray. But his face was without expression. It was 
heavy and dull, not lighted up either by intelligence or 
benevolence. The carriage rolled into the gates of the 
palace, and the pageant was ended. 

Such was the public appearance of the Sultan. But 



THE SULTAtN ABDUL AZIZ. 297 

an actor is often very different behind the scenes. A 
tragic hero may play the part of Csesar, and stride across 
the stage as if he were the lord of nations, and drop into 
nothing when he takes off his royal robes, and speaks in 
his natural voice. So the Sultan — though he appears 
w^ell on horseback ; though he has the look of majesty 
and "his bend doth awe the world" — when he retires 
into his palace is found to be only a man, and a very 
weak man at that. He has not in him a single element 
of greatness. Though he comes of a royal race, and has 
in his veins the blood of kings and conquerors, he does 
not inherit the high qualities of his ancestors. Some of 
the Sultans have been truly great men, born to be con- 
querors as much as Alexander or Napoleon. The father 
of the present Sultan, Mahmoud II., was worthy to be 
called the Grand Turk, as he showed by the way in 
which he disposed of the Janissaries. This was a mili- 
tary body that had become all-powerful at Constanti- 
nople, being at once the protectors of the Sultan and 
his masters — setting him up and putting him down at 
their will. Two of his predecessors they had assassin- 
ated, and he might have shared the same fate, if he had 
not anticipated them. But preparing himself secretly, 
with troops on which he could rely, as soon as he was 
strong enough he brought the conflict to an issue, and 
literally exterminated the Janissaries (besieging them in 
their barracks, and hunting them like dogs in the streets) 
as Mehemet Ali had massacred the Mamelukes in Egypt. 
Then the Sultan was free, and had a long and prosper- 
ous reign. He ruled with an iron hand, but though 
despotically, yet on the whole wisely and well. Had he 
been living now, Turkey would not be in the wi'etched 
condition in which she is to-day. But after this old lion 
of the desert came the poor, weak man who now sits in 



298 THE SULTAN ABDUL AZIZ. 

Ms seat, and sees the sceptre of empire dropping from 
his feeble hands ! 

The Sultan is a man of very small capacity. Though 
occupying one of the most exalted positions in the 
world, he has no corresponding greatness of mind, no 
large ideas of things. He is not capable of forming any 
scheme of public policy, or any plan of government 
whatever, or of pursuing it with determination. He 
lilies the pomp of royalty, and is very exacting of its 
etiquette, without having the cares of government. To 
ride in state, to be surrounded with awe and reverence, 
suits his royal taste; but to be bored with details of 
administration; to concern himself with the oppressions 
of this or that pasha in this or that province ; is quite 
beneath his dignity. 

The only thing in which he seems to be truly great is 
in spending money. For this his capacity is boundless. 
No child could throw it away in more senseless extrava- 
gance. The amount taken for the Civil List — that is 
for his personal expenses and his household — is some- 
thing enormous. His father, old Mahmoud II., man- 
aged to keep up his royal state on a hundred thousand 
pounds a year; but it is said that his son cannot be satis- 
fied with less than two millions sterling, which is more 
than the civil List of any other sovereign in Europe 1 
Indeed nobody knows how much he spends. His Civil 
List is an unfathomable abyss, into which are thrown 
untold sums of money. 

Then too, like a true Oriental, he has magnificent 
tastes in the way of architecture, and for years his pet 
folly has been the building of new palaces along the 
Bosphorus. Although he had many already, the greater 
part unoccupied, or used only for occasional royal visits, 
still if some new position pleased his eye, he immedi- 
ately ordered a new palace to be built, even at a fabulous 



THE SULTAN ABDTJL AZIZ. 299 

cost. Some of these dazzle the traveller who has seen 
all the royal palaces of Western Europe. To visit them 
requires a special permission, but this is easily obtained 
by a liberal fee, and immediately after we had seen the 
Sultan going to Mosque we drove to the Cheragan Pal- 
ace, which stands just above that which the Sultan occu- 
pies. It is of very great extent, and as it is built of 
white stone, and faces the Bosphorus, it rises from the 
sea like a vision of Oriental magnificence. The interior 
is in the Moorish style, like the Alhambra. Passing 
through apartment after apartment, each more splen- 
did than the last, the eye wearies with the succession 
of great halls, with columns of the richest marble, sup- 
porting lofty ceilings which are finished with beautiful 
arabesques, and an elaborateness of detail unknown in 
any other kind of architecture. Articles of furnitiore 
are wrought in the most precious woods, inlaid with 
the most costly stones, or with ivory and pearl. What 
must have been the cost of such a fairy palace no one 
knows — not even the Sultan himself — but it must have 
been millions upon millions. 

Yet, for all this, it is unoccupied! When it was 
finished, it is said that on entering it the Sultan's foot 
sHpped, which he thought to be an omen of death, 
and would not live in it, but in a few weeks returned 
to the palace in which he was before, where he has 
remained ever since. And so this new and costly palace 
is empty. Except the attendants who showed us about, 
we saw not a human being. It was not bmlt because it 
was needed, but to gratify an Imperial whim. 

Extravagant and foolish as this is, there is no way to 
prevent such folhes when siich is the royal pleasui'e, for 
the Sultan, like many weak men — feeble in intellect and 
in character — is of violent temper, and cannot brook any 
opposition to his will. If he wants a new palace, and 



300 THE SULTAN ABDUL AZIZ. 

the Grand Vizier tells him there is no money in the 
treasury, he flies into a rage and sends him about his 
business, and calls for another who will find the money. 

Yet the vices of the Sultan are not all his own. They 
are those of his position. What can be expected of a 
man who has been accustomed from childhood to have 
his way in everything, as if he were a god? It is one 
of the misfortunes of his position that he never hears 
the truth about anything. Though his credit in Europe 
is gone; though whole provinces are dying of famine; 
he is not permitted to know the unwelcome truth. He 
is surrounded by courtiers and flatterers whose interest 
it is to deceive him, and who are thus leading him 
blindly to his ruin. 

In his pleasures the Sultan is a man of frivolous 
tastes, rather than of gross vices. From some vices he 
is free, and (as I would say every good word in his favor) 
I gladly record that he is not a drunkard (as were some 
of his predecessors, in spite of the Mohammedan law 
against the use of strong drinks) ; and, what is yet more 
remarkable for a Turk, he does not smoke ! But if he 
does not drink, he eats enormously ! He is, like Cardi- 
nal Wolsey, " a man of unbounded stomach," and all the 
resources of the Imperial cuisine are put in requisition 
to satisfy his royal appetite. It is said that when he 
goes to the opera he is followed by a retinue of servants, 
bearing a load of dishes, so that if perchance between 
the acts his Sublime Majesty should need to refresh him- 
self, he might be satisfied on the instant ! 

For any higher pleasures than mere amusements he 
has no taste. He is not a man of education, as Euro- 
peans understand education, and has no fondness for 
reading. In all the great palace I did not see a single 
book — and but one picture ! and that a landscape, as the 
Mohammedans do not permit images, and, with all their 



THE SULTAN ABDUL AZIZ. 301 

gorgeous decorations, no royal figure hangs upon the 
palace walls. The Sultan does not care for these things. 
He prefers to be amused, and is fond of buffoons and 
dancing girls, and takes more delight in jugglers and 
mountebanks than in the society of the most eminent 
men of science in Europe. A man who has to be thus 
humored and petted, and fed with sweetmeats like a 
baby, is only a spoiled child, who has to be amused mth 
playthings. Yet on the whims and caprices of such a 
creature may depend the fate of an empire which is at 
this moment in the most critical situation, and which 
needs the utmost skill to guide it through its dangers. 
For what unknown piirpose has such a man been suf- 
fered to come to the throne at such a time as this? 
And what a comment is it on the vanity of all earthly 
things, that this man, so fond of pleasure, and with aU 
the resources of an empire at command, is not happy. 
The Spanish Minister tells me that he never saw him 
smile! Even in his palace he sits silent and gloomy. 
Is it that he is brooding over some secret trouble, or 
feels coming over him the shadow of approaching ruin ? 
Notwithstanding all his outward state and magnifi- 
cence, there are things which trouble him, like Belshaz- 
zar's dream. Though an absolute monarch, he cannot 
live forever, and who is to come after him? By the 
Mohammedan law of succession the throne passes, not to 
his son, but to the oldest male member of the royal 
house — it may be a brother or a nephew. In this case 
the heir apparent is Miirad Effendi, a son of the late 
Sultan. But Abdul Aziz (unmindful of his dead brother, 
or of that brother's living son) wishes to change the 
order of succession in favor of his own son, but does not 
quite dare to encounter the hostility of the bigoted 
Mussulmans. Formerly it was the custom of the Sul- 
tan, in coming to the throne, to put out of the way aU 



302 THE SULTAN ABDUL AZIZ. 

rivals or possible successors from collateral branclies cf 
the family by the easy method of assassination. But 
somehow that practice, like many others of the good 
old times, has fallen into disuse, and now he must wait 
for the slow process of nature. Meanwhile Murad 
Effendi is kept in the background as much as possible. 
He did not appear in the procession to the mosque, and 
is never permitted to show himself in state, while the son 
of the Sultan, whom he would make his heir, is kept con- 
tinually before the public. Though he is insignificant 
both in mind and body, this poor little mannikin is made 
the commander-in-chief of the army, and is always riding 
about ia state, with mounted officers behind his carriage. 
What is to be the future of the Sultan, who can teU ? 
If he should live many years he may be compelled to 
leave Constantinople; to leave aU his beautiful palaces 
on the Bosphorus, and transfer his capital to some city 
in Asia. Broussa, in Asia Minor, was the former capital 
of the Ottoman Empire, before the Turks conquered 
Constantinople four hundred and twenty years ago, and 
to that they may return again ; or they may go still far- 
ther to the banks of the Tigris, or the shores of the 
Persian Gulf, and the Sultan may end his days as the 
Caliph of Bagdad! 



CHAPTEK XXIX. 

THE EASTERN QUESTION. EXODUS OF THE TURKS. 

It is impossible to be in Constantinople without hav- 
ing forced upon us the Eastern Question, which is just 
now occupying so much of the attention of Europe. A 
child can ask questions which a philosopher cannot 
answer, and a traveller can see dangers and difficulties 
which all the wisdom of statesmen cannot resolve. 

Twenty years ago France and England went to war 
with Russia for the maintenance of Turkey, and they 
are now beginning to ask, whether in this they did not 
make a mistake ; whether Turkey was worth the saving ? 
If the crisis were to arise again, it is doubtful whether 
they would be so ready to rush into the field. All over 
Europe there has been a great revulsion of feeling 
caused by the recent financial breakdown of Turkey, 
in which she has virtually repudiated half the interest 
on her national debt ; that is, she pays one-half, and 
funds the other half, promising to pay it five years 
hence ! But few beheve it will then be paid. This 
has excited great indignation in France and England 
and Italy [which joined the Allies against Russia in the 
latter part of the Crimean war], where millions of Turk- 
ish bonds are held, and they ask, have we spent our 
treasure and shed our blood to bolster up a rotten 
state, that is utterly faithless to its engagements, and 
thus turns upon its benefactors ? 

To tell the whole truth, these powers have themselves 
partly to blame for having led the Turkish government 
into the easy and slippery ways of borrowing money. 
Before the Crimean war Tiu'key had no national debt ! 
Whatever she spent she wrung out of the sweat and 



304 THE EASTERN QUESTION. 

blood of her wretched people, and left no burden of 
hopeless indebtedness to curse those who should come 
after. 

But the war brought great expenses, and having rich 
allies, what so natural as to borrow a few of their 
superfluous miUions? Once begun, the operation had 
to be repeated year after year. Nothing is so seductive 
as the habit of borrowing money. It is an easy way to 
pay one's debts and to gratify one's love of spending ; 
and as long as one's credit lasts, he may indulge his 
dreams to the very limit of Oriental magnificence. So 
the Sultan found it. He had but to contract a loan in 
London or Paris, and he had millions of pounds sterling 
to build palaces. 

But borrowing money is like taking opium, the dose 
must be constantly increased, till the system gives way, 
and death ends the scene. Every year the Sultan had 
to borrow more money to pay the interest on his debts, 
and to borrow at ever increasing rates ; and so at last 
came, what always comes after a long course of extrava- 
gance, a complete collapse of money and credit together. 

The indignation felt at this would not have been so 
great if the money borrowed had been spent for legiti- 
mate objects — to construct public works ; to build rail- 
roads which are greatly needed to open communication 
with the interior of the empire; and to create new 
branches of industry and new sources of wealth. Tur- 
key is a very rich country in its natural resources, rich 
in a fertile soil, rich in mines, with an immense line of 
sea-coast, and great harbors, offering every facility for 
commerce ; and it needs only a very Httle political econ- 
omy to turn aU these resources to account. If the 
money borrowed in England and France had been spent 
in building railroads all over European Turkey, in open- 
ing mines, and in promoting agriculture and commerce, 



EXODUS OF THE TTJKKS. 305 

the country to-day, instead of being bankrupt, would be 
rich and independent, and not compelled to ask the help 
or the compassion of Europe. 

But instead of applying his borrowed money to devel- 
oping the resources of his empire, there has not been a 
freak of foUy that the Sultan did not gratify. He has 
literally thrown his money into the Bosphorus, spending 
it chiefly for ships on the water, or palaces on the shore. 
Next to his passion for building new palaces has been 
his caprice for buying ironclads. A few years since, 
when Russia, taking advantage of the Franco-German 
war, which rendered France powerless to resist, nullified 
the clause in the treaty made after the Crimean war, that 
forbade her keeping a navy in the Black Sea, and began 
to show her armed ships again in those waters, the Sul- 
tan seems to have taken it into his wise head that she 
was about to attack Constantinople, and immediately 
began preparations for defence on land and sea. He 
bought a million or so of the best rifles that could be 
found in Europe or America; and cannon enough to 
furnish the Grand Army of Napoleon; and some fifteen 
tremendous ships of war, which have cost nearly two 
mOUon dollars apiece, and yet, in case of war, would be 
almost useless. The safety of Turkey is not in such 
defences, but in the fact that it is for the interest of 
Europe to hold her up awhile longer. K once France 
and England were to leave her to her fate, all these 
ships would not save her against Russia coming from 
the Black Sea — or marching an army over land and 
attacking Constantinople in the rear. But the Sultan 
would have these ships, and here they are. They have 
been lying idle in the Bosphorus aU summer, their only 
use being to fire salutes every Friday when the Sultan 
goes to mosque. They never go to sea; if they did they 
might not return, for they are very unwieldy, and the 



306 THE EASTEEN QUESTION. 

Turks are poor sailors. Tlie only voyages they make 
are twice in the year: in the spring, when they are 
taken out of the Golden Horn to be anchored in the 
BosphoruSj a mile or two distant — about as far as from 
the Battery to the Narf Yard in Brooklyn — and in 
the autumn, when they are taken back again to be laid 
up for the winter. They have just made their annual 
voyage back to their winter quarters, and are now lying 
quietly in the Golden Horn — not doing any harm — nor 
any good — to anybody ! 

Ajid not only must the Sultan have a great navy, but 
a great army. Poor as Turkey is she has one of the 
largest armies in Europe. I have found it difficult to 
obtain exact statistics. A gentleman who has lived long 
in Constantinople tells me that they claim to be able, in 
case of war, to put seven hundred thousand men under 
arms, but this includes the reserves — ^there are perhaps 
half that number now in barracks or in camp. A hun- 
dred thousand men have been sent to Herzegovina to 
suppress an insurrection. So much does it cost to 
extinguish a rising among a few mountaineers in a dis- 
tant province, a mere strip of territory lying far off on 
the borders of the Adriatic. "What a fearful drain must 
the support of all these troops be upon the resources of 
an exhausted empire ! 

"While thus bleeding at every pore, Turkey takes no 
course to keep a supply of fresh life-blood. England 
spends freely, but she makes freely also, and so has 
always an abundant revenue for her vast empire. So 
might Turkey, if she had but a grain of financial or 
political wisdom. But her policy is suicidal in the man- 
agement of all the great industries of the country. For 
example, the first great interest is agriculture, and this 
the government, so far from encouraging, seems to set 
itself to ruin. Of course the people must till the ground 



EXODUS or THE TUEKS. 307 

to live. Of all the produce of the earth the government 
takes one-tenth ! Even this might be borne, if it woiild 
only take it and have done with it, and let the poor 
peasants gather in the rest. But no : after a farmer has 
reaped his grain, he cannot store it in his barn until the 
tax-gatherer has surveyed it and taken out his share ! 
Perhaps the official is busy elsewhere, or he is waiting 
for a bribe ; and so it may lie on the ground for days or 
weeks, exposed to the rains till the whole crop is spoiled. 
Such is the beautiful system of political economy prac- 
tised in administering the internal affairs of this country, 
which nature has made so rich, and man has made so poor. 

So as to the fisheries by which the people on the sea- 
coast live. AH along the Bosphorus we saw them draw- 
ing their nets. But we were told that not a single fish 
could be sold until the whole were taken down to Con- 
stantinople, a distance of some miles, and the govern- 
ment had taken its share, and then the rest could be 
brought back again ! 

Another great source of wealth to Turkej' — or which 
might prove so — is its mines. The country is very rich 
in mineral resources. If it were only farmed out to 
EngHsh or Welsh miners, they wotQd bring treasures 
out of the earth. The hOIs might be found to bring 
forth brass, and the mountains to bring forth iron. 
But the Turkish government does nothing. It keeps a 
few men at work, just enough to scratch the siu-face 
here and there, but leaves the vast wealth that is in the 
bowels of the earth untouched. 

And not only will it do nothing itself, it will not 
allow anybody else to do anything. Never did a great 
government play more completely the part of the dog 
in the manger. For years EngUsh capitalists have been 
trying to get permission to work certain mines, offering 
to pay millions of pounds for the concession. If once 



308 THE EASTERN QUESTION. 

opportunity were given, and they were sure of protec- 
tion, English wealth would flow into Turkey in a con- 
stant stream. But the government puts every obstacle 
in its way. With the bigotry and stupidity of the race, 
it is intensely jealous of foreigners, even while it exists 
only by foreign protection — and not only is its policy 
not one of progress, it is one of obstruction. If it would 
only get out of the way and let foreign enterprise and 
capital come in, it might reap the benefit. But it 
opposes everything. Only a few days since a meeting 
was held here of foreign capitalists, who were ready and 
anxious to put their money into Turkish mines to an 
almost unlimited extent, but they aU declared that the 
restrictions were so many, and the requirements so com- 
phcated and vexatious, and so evidently intended to pre- 
vent anything being done, that it was quite hopeless to 
attempt it. 

But, although this is very bad political economy, yet 
it is not in itself alone a reason why a nation should be 
given up as beyond saving, if it were capable of learn- 
ing wisdom by experience. Merely getting in debt, 
though it is always a bad business, is not in itself a sign 
of hopeless decay. Many a young and vigorous state 
has at the beginning spent all its substance, like the 
prodigal son, in riotous living, but after "sowing its 
wild oats," has learned wisdom by experience, and set- 
tled down to a course of hard labor, and so come up 
again. But Turkey is the prodigal son without his 
repentance. It is continually wasting its substance, 
and, although it may have now and then fitful spasms 
of repentance as it feels the pangs of hunger, it gives 
not one sign of a change of heart, a real internal reform, 
and a return to a clean, pure, healthy and wholesome life. 

Is there hope of anything better? Not the least I 
Just now there is some feeling in official cii'cles of the 



EXODUS OF THE TUEKS. 309 

degradation and weakness shown in the late bankruptcy, 
and there are loud professions that they are going to 
reform ! But everybody who has lived in Turkey knows 
what these professions mean. It is a little spasm of 
virtue, which will soon be forgotten. The Sultan may 
not throw away money quite so recklessly as before, 
but only because he cannot get it. He is at the end 
of his rope. His credit is gone in all the markets of 
Europe, and nobody will lend him a dollar. Yet he is 
at this very moment building a mosque that is to cost 
two millions sterling, and if there were the least let-up 
in the pressure on him, he would resume the same 
course of folly and extravagance as ever. No one is so 
lavish with money as the man who does not mean to 
pay his debts. He cannot change his nature. Can the 
Ethiopian change his skin, or the leopard his spots? 
The Turk, like the Pope, never changes ! It is consti- 
tutionally impossible for him to reform in anything. His 
ideas are against it ; his very physical habits are against 
it. A man who is always squatting on his legs, and 
smoking a long pipe, cannot run very fast ; and the 
only thing for him to do, when the pressure of modern 
civilization becomes too great for him, is to " bundle up " 
and get out of the way. 

Thus there is in Turkey not a single element of hope ; 
there is no internal force which may be a cause of poUt- 
ical regeneration. It is as impossible to infuse life into 
this moribund state as it would be to raise the dead. 
I have met a great many Europeans in Constantinople — 
some of whom have lived here ten, twenty, thirty, or 
even forty years — and have not found one who did not 
consider the condition of Turkey absolutely hopeless, 
and its disappearance from the map of Europe only a 
question of time. 

But if for purely economical reasons Turkey has to 



810 THE EASTEEN QUESTION. 

be given up as utterly rotten and going to decay, tlie 
picture is still darker from the oppression of the Chris- 
tian populations and the impossibility of obtaining jus- 
tice. A horde of officials is quartered on the country, 
who eat out its substance, and set no bounds to their 
rapacity ; -who plunder the people so that they are 
reduced to the extreme point of misery. The taxation 
is so heavy that it drains the very life-blood out of a 
poor and wretched people — and this is often aggravated 
by the most wanton oppression and cruelty. Such is 
the present state of Turkey — universal corruption and 
oppression, and going all the time from bad to worse! 

And yet this wretched Government rules over the 
fairest portion of the globe. The Turkish Empire is 
territorially the finest in the world. Half in Europe 
and half in Asia, it extends over many degrees of lati- 
tude and longitude, including many countries and many 
climates, " spanning the vast arch from Bagdad to Bel- 
grade." 

But can a power that desolates and curses the fairest 
portion of the earth's surface be left to hold it for all 
time to come ? It seems impossible. The position of 
Turkey is certainly an anomaly. It is an Asiatic power 
planted in Europe. It is a Mohammedan power ruling 
over millions of Christians. It is a government of Turks 
— that is, of Tartars — over men of a better race as weU 
as a purer religion. It is a government of a minority 
over a majority. The Mohammedans are only about 
one-quarter of the population of European Tiirkey — 
some estimates make it much less, but where there is 
no accurate census, it must be a matter of conjecture. 
It is a power occupying the finest situation in the world, 
where two continents touch, and two great seas mingle 
their waters, yet sitting there on the Bosphorus only to 
hold the gates of Europe and Asia, and oppose a fixed 



EXODUS OF THE TUBES. 311 

and immovable barrier to the progress of the nations ! 
What then shall be done with the Grand Turk ? The 
feeling is becoming universal that he must be driven out 
of Europe, back into Asia from which he came. This 
would solve the Eastern Question in part, but only in 
part, for after he is gone, what power is to take his place ? 

The solution would be easy if there were any inde- 
pendent State near at hand to succeed to the vacant 
sceptre. When a rich man dies, there are always plenty 
of heirs ready to step in and take possession of the prop- 
erty. The Greeks would willingly transfer their capital 
from Athens to Constantinople. The Armenians think 
themselves numerous enough to form a State, but the 
Greeks and the Armenians hate each other more even 
than they hate their common oppressor. JRussia has not 
a doubt that she is the rightful heir to the throne of 
the Sultan. The possession of European Turkey would 
round out her territory, so that her Empire should be 
bounded only by the seas — the Baltic and the White Sea 
on the North, and the Black Sea and the Mediterranean 
on the South. But that is just the solution of the ques- 
tion which all the rest of Europe is determined to pre- 
vent, Austria, driven out of Germany, thinks it would 
be highly proper that she should be indemnified by an 
addition to her territory on the south ; while the Danu- 
bian principalities, Moldavia and Wallachia (now united 
under the title of Roumania) ; and Servia, which is tak- 
ing its first lesson in independence; think that they 
will soon be sufficiently educated in the difficult art of 
government to take possession of the whole Ottoman 
Empire. Among so many rival claimants, who shall 
decide ? Perhaps if it were put to vote, they would all 
prefer to remain under the Turk, rather than that the 
coveted prize should go to a rival ! 

Herein lies the difficulty of the Eastern Question, 



312 THE EASTEEN QUESTION. 

whicli no European statesman is wise enough to resolye. 
There is still another solution possible : that Turkey 
should be divided as Poland was : giving a province or 
two on the Danube to Austria ; and another on the 
Black Sea to Russia ; Syria to France, and Egypt to 
England ; while the Sultan should take up his residence 
in Asia Minor ; and Constantinople be made a free city 
(as Hamburg was), under the protection of all Europe, 
which should hold the position simply to protect the pas- 
sage of the Bosphorus and the Dardanelles, and thus 
keep open the Black Sea to the commerce of the world. 

But however these remoter questions may perplex 
the minds of statesmen, the first necessity is that the 
Turk should retire from Europe; that a half-barbarous 
power should no longer hold the finest position in the 
world, the point of contact between Europe and Asia, 
only to be a barrier between them — an obstacle to com- 
merce and to civilization. This obstruction must be 
removed. The Turks themselves may remain, but they 
will no longer be the governing race, but subject, like 
other races, to whatever state may be its successor ; 
the Sultan may transfer his capital to Broussa, the 
ancient capital of the Ottoman Empire ; but Turkey will 
thenceforth be wholly an Asiatic, and no longer an 
European power ! 

This will be the end of a dominion that has been for 
centuries the terror of Europe. It is four hundred and 
twenty years since the Turks crossed the Bosphorus 
and took Constantinople. Since then they have risen to 
such power that at one time they threatened to overrun 
Europe. It is but two hundred years since they laid 
siege to Vienna. But within these two centuries Turkey 
has greatly declined. The rise of a colossal power in the 
North has completely overshadowed her, till now she is 
kept from becoming the easy prey of Russia only by the 



EXODTJS OF THE TUEKS. 313 

protection of those Christian powers to which the Turk 
was once, like Attila, the Scourge of God. 

From the moment that the Turks ceased to conquer, 
they began to decline. They came into Europe as a 
race of warriors, and have never made any progress 
except by the sword. And so they have really never 
taken root as one of the famUy of civilized nations, but 
have always lived as in a camp, a vast Asiatic horde, 
that, while conquering civilized countries, retained the 
habits and instincts of nomadic tribes ; that were only 
hving in tents, and might at any time recross the Bos- 
phorus and return to their native deserts. 

That their exodus is approaching, is felt by the more 
sagacious Turks themselves. The government is taking 
every precaution against its overthrow. Dreading the 
least popular movement, it does not dare to trust its 
Christian populations. It wUl not permit them to bear 
arms, lest the weapons might be turned against itself. 
No one but a Mohammedan is allowed to enter the 
army ! There may be some European officers left from 
the time of the Crimean war, whose services are too val- 
uable to be spared, but in the ranks not a man is received 
who is not a true believer. This conscription weighs 
very heavily on the Mussulmans, who are but a minority 
in European Turkey, and who are thus decimated from 
year to year. It is a terrible blood-tax which they have 
to pay as the price of continued dominion. But even 
this the government is wilUng to pay rather than that 
arms should be in the hands of those who, as subject 
races, are their traditional enemies, and who, in the 
event of what might become a rehgious war, would turn 
upon them, and seek a bloody revenge for ages of oppres- 
sion and cruelty. 

Seeing these things, many even of the Turks them- 
selves anticipate their speedy departure from the Prom- 



314 THE EASTERK QUESTION. 

ised Land which they have so long occupied, and are 
beginning to set their houses in order for it. Aged 
Turks in dying often leave, as their last request, that 
they may be buried at Scutari, on the other side of the 
Bosphorus, so that if their people are driven across into 
Asia, their bodies at least may rest in peace under the 
cypress groves which darken the Asiatic shore. 

With such fears and forebodings on one side, and 
such hopes and expectations on the other, we leave this 
Eastern Question just where we found it. Anybody can 
state it ; nobody can resolve it. It is the great political 
problem in Europe at this hour, which no statesman, 
however sagacious, has yet been able to resolve. But 
man proposes and God disposes. We can only watch 
and wait, though strong in the belief that the curtain 
will rise on great events in the East before the close 
of the present century. 



CHAPTER XXX. 

THE STJLTAN DEPOSED AND ASSASSINATED. — WAB IN SEBVIA AND 
MASSACRES IN BULGAKIA. 

The last three chapters were written in Constanti- 
nople, near the close of 1875. Since then a year has 
passed — and yet I do not. need to change a single word. 
All that was then said of the Avretched character of the 
Sultan, and of the hopeless decay of the empire, has 
proved literally true. Indeed if I were to draw the pic- 
ture again, I should paint it in still darker colors. The 
best proof of this has been fiimished by events of which 
I will give a rapid review in a closing chapter. 

When I wrote of Abdul Aziz as a monarch still on 
the throne, I suggested, as a possible event in the near 
future, that the Turks might be driven out of Europe 
into Asia, and their capital be removed from Constanti- 
nople back to Broussa, (where it was four hundred and 
twenty years ago,) or even to the banks of the Tigris, 
and that the Sultan might end his days as the Caliph of 
Bagdad. 

This was a gloomy future to predict for a sovereign 
at the height of power and glory. But it wotdd have 
been happier for him if he could have found a refuge, iu 
Broussa or in Bagdad, from the troubles that were gath- 
ering round him. A fate worse than exile was reserved 
for this unhappy monarch. In six months from that 
time he was deposed and assassinated ! His taking off 
was one of the most melancholy tragedies of modern 
times. 

During the winter things went from bad to worse, 
till even Moslem patience and stoicism were exhausted. 
There was great suffering in the capital, which the 



316 THE SULTAN DEPOSED AND ASSASSINATED. 

sovereign was unable to relieve, or to which he was 
utterly indifferent. Murmurs began to be heard, not 
from his Christian subjects, but from faithful Moslems. 
Employes of the government, civil and military, were 
not paid. Yet even in this extremity every caprice of 
the Sultan must be supplied. If money came into the 
treasury, he seized it for his own use. 

Feeling the pressure from without, the ministers, 
who had been accustomed to approach their master like 
slaves, cowed and cringing in his presence, grew bolder, 
and presumed to speak a little more plainly. Remind- 
ing him as gently as possible of the public distress, and 
especially of the fact that the army was not paid, they 
ventured to hint that if his august majesty would, out of 
his serene and benevolent wisdom and condescension, 
apply a little of his own private resources (for it was 
well known that he had vast treasxu-es hoarded in the 
palace), it would allay the growing discontent. But to 
aU such intimations he listened with ill-concealed vexa- 
tion and disgust. What cared he for the sufferings of 
his soldiers or people ? Not a pound would he give out 
of his full coffers, even to put an end to mutiny in the 
camp or famine in the capital. Dismissing the imperti- 
nent ministers, he retired into the harem to forget amid 
its languishing beauties the unwelcome intrusion. 

But there is a point beyond which even Mohamme- 
dan fatalism cannot bow in submission. Finding aU 
attempts to move the Sultan hopeless, his ministers 
began to look in each other's faces, and to take courage 
from despair. There was but one resource left — they 
must strike at the head of the state. The Sultan himself 
must be put out of the way. 

But how can any popular movement be inaugurated 
under an absolute rule ? Strange as it may seem, there 
is a power above Sultans and Caliphs : it is that of the 



THE SULTAN DEPOSED AND ASSASSINATED. 317 

Koran itself ! The government is a Theocracy as much 
as that of the Jews, and the law of the state is the Koran, 
of which the priestly class, the Ulemas and the Mollahs 
and the Softas, are the representatives. Mohammedan- 
ism has its Pope in the Sheik-ul-Islam, who is the author- 
ized interpreter of the sacred law, and who, like other 
interpreters, knows how to make an inflexible creed bend 
to the necessities of the state. His opinion was asked if, 
in a condition of things so extreme as that which now 
existed, the sovereign might be lawfully deposed ? He 
answered in the affirmative. Thus armed with a spir- 
itual sanction, the conspirators proceeded to obtain the 
proper military support. 

The Sultan had not been without his suspicions, and 
had kept watch on Murad Effendi, who was put under 
strict surveillance, and almost under guard, Uke a state 
prisoner. Suspecting the fidelity of the Minister of War, 
he sent to demand his immediate presence at the palace. 
But, as the latter was deep in the plot, he pleaded illness 
as an excuse for his non-appearance. But this alarm 
hastened the decisive blow. The ministers met at the 
war office, and thither Murad Effendi was brought 
secretly in the night of Monday, May 29th, and received 
by them as Sultan, and made to issue an order for the 
immediate arrest of his predecessor, Abdul Aziz, an 
order which was entrusted to Redif Pasha, a soldier 
of experience and nerve, for execution. Troops were 
already under arms, and were now drawn round the 
palace, while the officer entered to demand the person 
of the Sultan. Passing through the attendants, he came 
to the chief of the eunuchs, who kept guard over the 
sacred person of the Padishah, and demanded to be led 
instantly to his master. The black major-domo was not 
accustomed to such a tone, and, amazed at its audacity, 
lauehed in the face of the intruder. But the old soldier 



318 THE SULTAN DEPOSED AND ASSASSINATED. 

was not to be trifled with. Forcing his way into the 
apartments of the Sultan, he announced to him that he 
had ceased to reign, and must immediately quit the pal- 
ace. Then the terrible truth began to dawn upon him 
that he was no longer a god, before whom men trem- 
bled. He was beside himself with fury. He raved and 
stormed like a madman, and cursed the unwelcome guest 
in the name of the Prophet. His mother rushed into 
the room, and added her cries and imprecations. But 
he could not yet believe that any insolent ofl&cial had 
the power to remove him from his palace. He told the 
Pasha that he was a liar ! The only answer was, Look 
out of the window ! One glance was enough. There 
stood the soldiers that had so long guarded his person 
and his throne, and would have guarded him still, if his 
own folly had not driven them to turn their arms against 
him. Then he changed his tone, and promised to yield 
everything, if he might be spared. He was told it was 
too late, and was warned to make haste. Time was pre- 
cious. The boats were waiting below. The Sultan had 
often descended there to his splendid caique to go to 
the mosque, when all the ships in the harbor fired salutes 
in honor of his majesty. Now not a gun spoke. Silently 
he embarked with his mother and sons, and fifty-three 
boats soon followed with his wives and servants. It was 
in the gray of the morning that they moved across the 
waters to Seraglio Point, where Abdul Aziz, but an hour 
ago a sovereign, now found himself a prisoner. 

The same forenoon another retinue of barges con- 
veyed Murad Effendi across the same waters to the 
vacant palace, and the ships of war thundered their 
salutes to the new Sultan. 

Five days later the deposed Sultan was found in his 
room weltering in his blood ! How did he die ? By his 
own hand ? or by assassination ? A council of physi- 



THE SULTAN DEPOSED AND ASSASSINATED. 319 

cians gave their opinion that he had committed suicidej 
as they found scissors at his side, which might have 
been the instrument of self-destruction. A trifle indeed, 
but quite sufScient v^here it was the interest of all 
to stifle fui'ther investigation. It was not till months 
after that there was a judicial investigation, when it was 
found that the Sultan had been assassinated by the order 
of men who had been in his cabinet ; who felt, and not 
without reason, that their own safety depended upon 
putting him out of the way, so that he should not return 
to power and send them to the executioner ! 

Such was the end of Abdul Aziz, who passed almost 
in the same hour from his throne and from life. The 
news reached us on the other side of the globe, in Japan. 
With the picture of that poor body, covered with blood, 
we could but contrast the brilliant scene when he rode 
to the mosque, surrounded by his officers of state, and 
indignation at his selfish life was almost forgotten in j)ity 
for his end. 

His successor had but a short reign. The calamity 
that brooded over the land weighed like a paU on an 
enfeebled body and a weak mind, and after a few months 
he too was removed, to give place to a younger brother, 
Abdul Hamid, who had more physical vigor and more 
mental capacity, and who now fills that troubled throne. 

The death of the Sultan relieved the State of a terri- 
ble incubus, but it failed to restore public tranquillity 
and prosperity. Some had supposed that it would aUay 
discontent and quell insurrection. But instead of this, 
his deposition and death seemed to produce a contrary 
effect. It relaxed the bonds of authority. It spread 
more widely the feeling that the empire was in a state of 
hopeless decay and dissolution, and that the time had 
come for different provinces to seek their independence. 
Instead of the Montenegrins laying down their arms, 



320 THE WAK m SEBVIA. 

the brave mountaineers became more determined than 
ever, and the insiUTection, instead of dying out, spread 
to other provinces. 

Servia had long been chafing vv^ith impatience. It 
was ah'eady independent in everything but the name. 
Though still a j)art of the Turkish Empire, and paying 
an annual tribute to the Sultan, it had its own separate 
government. But such was the sympathy of the people 
with the other Christian populations of European Tur- 
key, who were groaning imder the oppression of their 
masters, that the government could not withstand the 
popular excitement, and at the opening of summer the 
country rushed into war. 

It was a rash step. Servia has less than a million 
and a half of souls; and its army is very small, although, 
by calling out all the militia, it mustered into the field 
a hundred thousand men, hoping to anticipate success 
by a rapid movement. A large force at once crossed 
the frontier into Turkey, to make that country the 
battle-ground of the hostile armies. The movement 
was well planned, and if carried out by veteran troops, 
might have been successful. But the raw Servian levies 
were no match for the Turkish regular army ; and as 
soon as the latter could be moved up from Constanti- 
nople, a series of battles followed, in which the Turks 
forced back the Servians over the border, and into their 
own country, where they had every advantage for resist- 
ance ; where there were rivers to be crossed, and passes 
in the hiUs, and fortresses that might be defended. But 
with aU these advantages the Turkish troops pressed on. 
Their advance was marked by wasted fields and burning 
villages, yet nothing could resist their onward march, 
and but for the delay caused by the interposition of 
other powers, the campaign would have ended by the 
Turks entering in triumph the capital of Servia and die- 



THE WAK IN SEEVIA. 321 

tating terms of submission within the walls of Belgrade. 
This was a terrible disappointment to the sanguine 
spirits that were so eager to urge Servia into war, and 
a lesson to the other discontented provinces, and a warn- 
ing to all Europe, that Turkey, though she may be dying, 
is not dead, and that she will die hard. Misgoverned and 
ruined financially as she is, she is yet a very formidable 
military power. Her troops are not mere militia, but 
trained soldiers. Those that we saw in the streets of Con- 
stantinople were of splendid physique, just the stuff for 
war. They are capable of much greater endurance than 
even English soldiers, who must have their rations even 
in camp, while the Turks will live on the coarsest food, 
sleep on the ground, and march gayly to battle. Such 
men are not to be despised in a great conflict. In its 
raw material the Turkish army is equal to any in Europe. 
Not only are they strong and brave ; well disciplined and 
well armed ; but they are inflamed with a religious zeal 
that heightens their courage and kindles their enthusiasm 
That such an army should be victorious, however much 
we may regret it, cannot be a matter of surprise. 

As the result of this campaign, however calamitous, 
was merely the fortune of war, gained in honorable bat- 
tle; whatever sorrow it might have caused throughout 
Europe, it could not have created any stronger feeling, 
had not events occurred in another province, which kin- 
dled a flame of popidar indignation. 

Before the war began, indeed before the death of the 
Siiltan, fearing an outbreak in other provinces, an 
attempt had been made to strike terror into the dis- 
affected people. Irregular troops — the Circassians and 
Bashi Bazouks — were marched into Bulgaria, and com- 
menced a series of massacres that thrilled Europe with 
horror, as it had not been since the massacre of Scio in 
the Greek revolution. The events were some time in 



322 THE MASSACRES IN BULGAKIA. 

coming to tlie knowledge of the world, so that weeks 
after, when inquiry was made in the British Parliament, 
Mr. Disraeli replied that the government had no knowl- 
edge of any atrocities; that probably the reports were 
exaggerated; that it was a kind of irregular warfare, in 
which no doubt there were outrages on both sides ! 

Since then the facts have come to light. Mr. Eugene 
Schuyler, formerly Secretary of the American Legation 
at St. Petersburg, and afterward Consul in Constantino- 
ple, visited Bulgaria, and, as the result of a careful 
inquiry, found that not less than twelve thousand men, 
women and children (he thinks fifteen thousand) had 
been massacred! Women had been outraged, villages 
burnt, and little children thrown into the flames ! The 
peaceful province had been laid waste with fire and 
slaughter. 

Coming from such a source, and accompanied by the 
fullest evidence, the report created a profound sensation 
in England. Meetings were held in all parts of the 
country to express public indignation; and not only at 
the brutal Turks, but at their own government for the 
light and flippant way in which it had treated such hor- 
rors: the more so that among the powers of Europe, 
England had been the supporter of Turkey, which gave 
her the right to utter her indignant protest in the name 
of humanity and civilization. 

But why should the people of Christian England 
wonder at these things, or at any act of violence and 
blood dons by such hands ? The Turk has not changed 
his nature in the four hundred years that he has Hved, 
or rather camped, in Europe. He is stiU half a savage. 
Here and there may be found a noble specimen of the 
race, in some old sheik, who is like " a fine old English 
gentleman," or rather like an ancient patriarch as he sits 
at his tent door in the cool of the dav. But such cases 



THE MASSACEES IN BULGAEIA. 823 

are exceptional. The mass of the people are Tartars, as 
much as when they roamed the deserts of Central Asia. 
The wild blood is in them still, with every brutal instinct 
intensified by rehgion. AJl Mussulmans are nursed in 
such contempt and scorn of the rest of mankind, that 
when once their passions are roused they know not 
either justice or mercy. No tie of a common humanity 
binds them to the rest of the human race. The follow- 
ers of the Prophet are hfted to such a height above those 
who are not behevers, that the sufferings of others are 
nothing to them. They are always ready to rise and 
slay without the slightest feeling of pity or remorse. 

With such a people it is impossible to deal as with 
other nations. There is no common ground to stand 
upon. They care no more for " Christian dogs " than 
for the dogs that howl and yelp in the streets of Con- 
stantinople. Their reUgious fanaticism extinguishes 
every feeling of a common nature. Has not Europe 
a right to put some restraint on passions so lawless and 
violent, and to stop such frightful massacres as have 
this very year deluged her soil with innocent blood ? 

When the campaign in Servia was over, and the mas- 
sacres in Bulgaria, the Powers set to work to settle the 
whole business without another resort to arms. Tui'key, 
as usual, promised reform for the protection and safety 
of her Christian populations! But experience has 
proved that her promises are good for nothing. Either 
they are made in bad faith, and are not intended to be 
kept, or she has no power to enforce them in the face of 
a fanatical Mohammedan population. But it was fur- 
ther demanded, in order to secure the Christian popula- 
tion absolute protection, that these reforms should be 
carried out under the eye of foreign commissioners in 
the different provinces, supported by an armed force ! 
Had this been done, there might have been some result 



324 WHAT WILL THE END BE ? 

from European intervention. Short of this, no promise 
to do better can be of any effect. There is absolutely no 
safety for Christians in lands cursed by the rule of the 
Turk. 

Something was gained in the concession of autonomy 
to Servia, such as has been already granted to Wallachia 
and Moldavia (which have been united under the name of 
Roumania), the result of which has been to bring quiet- 
ness and peace. Now the connection of the states with 
the Porte is only nominal, being limited to the payment 
of an annual tribute ; while even this nominal depen- 
dence has the good effect of warning off Austria and 
Russia from taking possession. With the same degree 
of independence extended to Bulgaria and to Bosnia 
and Herzegovina, there wiU be a belt of Christian states, 
virtually independent, di'awn round Turkey, which would 
confine wdthin smaller space the range of Moslem dom- 
ination in Europe. 

And yet even that is not the end, nor will it be the 
final settlement of the Eastern question. That wiU not 
be reached until some other power, or joint powers, 
hold Constantinople. That is the eye of the East ; that 
is the jewel of the world ! and so long as it is under 
the rule of barbarians, it will be an object of ambition 
and of war. 

There is a saying in the East that " where the Turk 
comes the grass never grows." Is it not time that these 
Tartar hordes, that have so long held dominion in Europe, 
should return into the deserts from which they came, 
leaving the grass to spring up from under their depart- 
ing feet ? 

But some Christian people and missionaries dread 
such an issue, because they think that it is a struggle 
between the Russian and the Turk, and that if the Tui'k 
goes out, the Russian must come in. But is there no 



WHAT WILL THE EJS^D BE? 325 

other alternative ? Is there not political wisdom enough 
in all Europe to make another settlement, and power 
enough to enforce it ? England holds Malta and Gib- 
raltar, and France holds Algeria : cannot both hold 
Constantinople ? Their combined fleets coTild sweep 
every Russian ship out of the Black Sea, as they did in 
the Crimean war. Drawn up in the Bosphorus, they 
could so guard the strait that no Russian flag should 
fly on the Seraskier or Galata towers. Why may not 
Constantinople be placed under the protection of all 
nations for the benefit of all? But for this, the first 
necessity is that the Turk should take himseK out of the 
way. 

This will come ; but it will not come without a strug- 
gle. The Turks are not going to depart out of Europe 
at the first invitation of Russia, or of aU Europe com- 
bined. They have shown that they are a formidable foe. 
When this war began, some who had been looking and 
longing for the destruction of Turkey thought this was 
the beginning of the end ; students of prophecy saw in 
it " the drying up of the Euphrates ! " All these had 
better moderate their expectations. Admitting that the 
end will be the overthrow of the Mohammedan power in 
Europe, it may be many years in coming. The sick 
man is not dead, and he will not die quietly and peace- 
fully, as an old man breathes his last. He will not 
gather up his feet into his bed, and turn his face to the 
wall, and give up the ghost. He will die on the field of 
battle, and his death-struggle will be tremendous. The 
Turk came into Europe on horseback, waving his scim- 
itar over his head, and he will not depart like a fugitive, 
" as men flee away in battle," but will make his last stand 
on the shores of the Bosphorus, and fall fighting to the 
last ! This sober view I commend to those whose san- 
guine temperament may anticipate the march of events, 



326 WHAT WILL THE END BE? 

The end will come ; though, we know not the time of its 
coming. 

That end will be the exodus of the Turks from 
Europe ! Not that the people as a body will depart. 
There is not likely to be another national migration. 
The expulsion of a hundred thousand of the conquering 
race of the Osmanlis — or of half that number — may 
suffice to remove the imperious element that has so long 
kept rule in Turkey, and by its command of a warlike 
people, been for centuries the terror of Europe. But 
the Turkish power — the power to oppress and to perse- 
cute, to kill and destroy, to perpetrate such massacres as 
now thrill the world with horror — will come to an end. 

In saying this I do but reflect the opinion of the 
whole foreign community in Constantinojole. I have 
questioned men of all countries, and I heard but one 
opinion. Not a man exj)ressed the slightest hope of 
Turkey, or the slightest confidence in its professions 
of reform. One and all — Englishmen and Americans, 
Frenchmen and Germans, Spaniards and Italians — 
agreed that it was past saving, and that its removal 
from the map of Europe was only a question of time. 

So Europe still remains in a state of uncertainty and 
expectancy — fearing, trembling, and hoping. The cur- 
tain falls on a scene of horrors. We are in the midst of 
great events, and may be on the eve of still gTeater. It 
may be that a war is coming which will be a death- 
struggle between the two rehgions which have so long 
divided the lands that lie on the borders of Europe 
and Asia, in which "the blood shall come up to the 
horses' bridles ! " 

But, looking forward to the end of the century, we 
picture what we hope may come to pass. However the 
tide of battle may ebb and flow, yet slowly, but steadily, 
will the Osmanlis be pushed backward from those Chris- 



WHAT WILL THE END BE? 327 

tian provinces which they have so long desolated and 
oppi'essed, till they find themselves at last on the shores 
of the Golden Horn, forced to tate their farewell of old 
Stamboul. Sadly will they enter St. Sophia for the last 
time, and turn their faces towards Mecca, and bow their 
heads, repeating, " God is God, and Mohammed is His 
prophet." It would not be strange that they should 
mourn and weep as they dej)art. Be it so ! They came 
into that sacred temple with bloodshed and massacre ; 
let them depart with wailing and sorrow ! Crossing 
the Bosphorus, they will linger under the cypresses of 
Scutari, to bid adieu to the graves of their fathers ; 
and then bowing, with the fatalism of their creed, to a 
destiny which they cannot resist, will tuni their horses' 
heads to the east, and ride away over the hills of Asia 
Minor. 



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